It was early in the morn
Fore the blush touched the willow
Fore the mockingbird’s yawn
Turned to song
Voices from the ceiling
Speaking words of introspection
Wandering in my mind
Tween right and wrong
In the hues of the dawn
In the chatter of the sparrow
When light sifted softly
Cross sculptured stones
Voices neath the floor
Speaking words of resurrection
Never speaking of the door
That hides the bones
It was early in the morn
Fore the blush touched the silence
Though light out of darkness
Dimmed the flame
Voices from the willow
Speaking words of intellection
Till the ravens came
Calling my name
Michael33
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Gorgeous
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