The night, which held its breath, gives one last sigh.
And muted stars are melting from the sky.
Rooftops wear a lingering silver gleam
And dreaming windows keep their lanterns nigh

In hedges, frost collects in quiet prayer.
The streets lie hushed, as if they too can sense
The first pale yawn of morning in the air --
Not yet a dawn, more hinted in suspense.

Time loosens laces; black begins to thin,
A soft surrender at the eastern sky
The world turns gently, letting morning in
With sunlight creeping forward with a sigh.

Then Sun, unmasked, arrives—so close, so new—
And dawn steps forward, rinsing night to blue.




By Diane E. Dockum
©April 10, 2026