Sometimes it takes time
for the sunrise.
A dark cloud hugs the hills,
tangles in the trees,
and you can see the rising
only in the gleaming edges,
patterns that change
each minute,
till through a hole,
the sun glows brilliant,
too bright for camera lens,
but swiftly again
conceals like a winking eye
in its cloudy lid,
and the sparkle on the water
turns to burnished silver,
and you wait once more
trying to hazard
where the sun might next appear.

And then at last,
above the topmost, gleaming edge,
the sun shines brightly,
and the cloud,
dimmed to wooly gray,
flattens out, gives way
below the sun
in all its golden splendor.
It can take time, sometimes,
for the sun to rise,
(not always an easy drift above the trees,
throwing off the clinging branches),
but it never gives way,
never gives up,
till it reaches where it wants to go.


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 © 2005, Lenore Horowitz