morning reverie

“Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour  
which knows the plenitude of the soul."—Gaston Bachelard
 
i kiss the morning, like a fresh-blown wind
of zeal and courage and new hope brim-filled;
leaving the debris of my past behind,
i grasp the sunshine, valleyed and steep-hilled.
 
a winging john-tu-whit raises a song
that dances through the lush pimento grove;
its music bears the calm for which i long
to ferry my expectant hopes above.  
 
a giant-grin sunflower lifts her head,
as if to urge my courage to be bold;
her golden smiles across the new dawn spread,
in whose full wake my joys are manifold.
 
my path is robust with the burst of spring,
my fingers harping descants in the air;
perchance i shall some stranger new mirth bring,
let my repose be sweetly debonair.
 
i shall be cheerful all the livelong day,
conversing with the secrets of my heart;
and when the sun, at eve, bows down to pray,
no pitch-dark night ink shall my prospects thwart.
 
© Copyright 2024 February 02
by Clyve A. Bowen♫