Morning comes too soon for the midnight meanderer,
its fingers of pale light creep across the horizon,
chasing quiet night to its slumber
as day is awoken to take over.
The mallards of dawn arise to take their place
on the banks of the tireless river
ever changing, ever wakeful.
The solitude of the early hours is broken,
the first song of morning breaks the silence
as mournful night gives way to joyous day
just as despair must give way to contentment.
If only could every change of emotion be this way.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017