A Morn



The upper blues are cold and fresh
Ablend with swirly whites

The lower ones are yellowish, not orange like the night’s

What I walk through’s
Crisp and chilled and
Telling of the twelfth

And there she is ‘just peeking’ through
A bomb upon the shelf

Her white is bright but also pale
We’re covered here
Like foam the ale

Spinning in our hidden world
This day upon the earth

ⓒCopyright Carl Atteniese Jr., All Rights Reserved

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