Here in the silent morning
the angel’s trumpets don’t ring.
None announce the arrival
of a change in the winds.
A change in the season.
Days,
blend until they’re all the same
and yesterday is already tomorrow.
Waking in this world is such a chore,
for the angels don’t proclaim the morning.
Only the birds know
the season’s changing.
Here in the morning light,
I pray for different days.
Here I pray for patience,
for the angel’s horns I wait.
HG – 1995-2000
