"On Death and Morning"
a poem, by Michael Sherrillo
Sunlight sprouts on hilltops far.
Growing, it reaches for the sky,
Giving birth unto the dawn.
Lighting early mornings night.
Pushing forth it's golden head,
this brillant sliver ignites the sky.
Smoking clouds now burn bright red,
and in the silent fire, die.
Ashes now, floating high,
Are all of the night which do remain.
As the newborn sun, on it's blue playground,
begins it's journey across the day.