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Dawn in the Valley

Poetry By: silver 84
Poetry



I haven't posted a poem in a long while, so I was determined to get one up tonight! A lot of times I stay up all night, I just can't get to sleep. The dawn makes the next day, which is always pretty awful since I hadn't had any sleep, worth it. Such a beautiful thing. My favorite part is that one bird that starts singing in the valley where I live, surrounded by woods, miles away from the city. It's a whole different world here, and I plan to make more poems about the beauty of life here.


Submitted:Jul 24, 2013    Reads: 32    Comments: 8    Likes: 5   


Dawn in the Valley

Cold mist rides low,

And soft, spring winds begin to blow.

Utter silence, save the creek,

Its rushing gray waters, seen from the banks, steep.

Then,

The first bird starts his song,

A beautiful sound, for which the earth has waited long.

Rising, falling, shrill notes fly

As he sings his high, joyful cry.

It cuts through the mist, then more birds start singing

Through the forest, their chorus ringing.

First one, then two, adding their own notes,

The beautiful sound begins to grow

Till the whole forest echoes

Their perfect symphony.

The same song, yet ever changing.

Then, the sun shines through

Prismatic drops, small drops of dew.

Flying forth a kaleidoscope, through misty air, a rainbow's hues.

Over the luscious, green forest floor.

Light slowly ventures over the moor,

Lighting up flowers of white and blue,

The green feid, even more beautiful than before.

The leaves all turn to face the sun

Waiting for it to come,

Waiting for it to lift the dew

From their tired bodies, so they can start anew.

More animals start to stir,

Greeted by mist, rainbows, oaks and firs,

Painting a beautiful picture,

For us to observe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now all the deer go to sleep,

Find a warm place to meet.

Huddle up and wait for the night,

When they will resume their quick, soundless flight.

Owls all perch, as do the nightingale,

Waiting again, for the moonlight, pale,

Just as the whip-or-will waits,

Nestling, its body frail.

Waiting for the time it can sing again.

Under the mist's comforting veil.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun now peaks over the lowest hill,

It will burn bright all day but start to set, and then.

Night will reign over my home once more.

But, for now, as I gaze out my window at the blissful sight,

Dawn lies in the valley.

Just as it has before.





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