WAITING FOR SUNRISE

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   WAITING FOR SUNRISE

There they are,
Sheaves of hay lying in the fields
Like golden Lovers,
Waiting for sunrise,
Waiting for the sun’s warmth
To cradle their tired heads.
Make soft shadows of eyelashes
Lying quiet against their faces. 

Don’t wake them,
Let them rest.
For over the thorn hedge
In the next field waiting,
Winter lies on his elbow,
Frosty fingers all set
To kill summer stone dead.

Here comes the sun.
Time enough now to shake their shoulders
Before the frost gets close enough to touch them.

Hold hands, Lovers.
Hold hands and run.

                                                    © Gwen Grant

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