Sunrise

Sunrise3
Wrenched from roiling dark,
It staggered into the sky,
Dark smouldering wreath
Shed by its waking fire,
Limbs and arms a tremble,
Exertion, tears of gold,
Fell gleaming to the earth,
And littered mountain side,
That men in time would fight to find.
Yet all the morning sun could see,
Was not the light it brought,
But the dark at journeys end.
© Greg Richards
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