An Angel Robed in Spotless White
Bent Down to Kiss the Sleeping Night
Night Woke To Blush, The Sprite Was Gone
Men Saw The Blush And Called It Dawn
Paul Laurence Dunbar
I guess I’ll blame insomnia, but I wake at 4 am constantly. In these still hours fades the peace in the morning, when only the sounds of speeding traffic from the nearby freeway are abuzz with their sonic waves coming in and out like the sounds a seashell, in the coolest of the night just before the sun lifts its eyelid to the world. The Cock crows, the engines start, and the world begins. But for a moment, in the dawn, there is peace. There is a balance between the chaos and pain and pleasure and tragedy of the day passed and the possibility of all that is to become in the day ahead. The world is at peace in the dawn. I guess that’s why this has been my favorite poem for a while.