But one morning into
the first of all days, darkness
subsides now, and light
looms beyond the unfamiliar faces
whose names you’ll come to learn.

Too soon for a dream, yet you
need not the dream, the moon, nor
the sun. It is early, and
only the milk do you yearn.

You cry … and those around you cry.
Your tear is the want; theirs … the joy.
In time you will know the nature
of other tears, but for now
the world must patiently wait.




© Stuart Higginson. 2-6-2007.

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