Shroud

Enveloped in heavy mists 

Lightly moisture falls from

Every leaf and tree resounding

Wrapped in a world of mystery

Wrapped in the break of day

Cool and refreshed from troubled

Dreams awakened by the call

Bluejay makes round the lake

Crying out it saucy song "Here, here

It's me" blending in the subtler notes 

Of songbirds all wrapped up in the 

Foggy beginnings of morning

Hidden by the grey it is not a 

Bright, open start but a muted world

Dulled of color and sound a cooling off

The heat and shrill of the weekend

It rises like a prayer to the new

Calmly coming in muted tones of

Silence deep stirring the awakening

Memories come to the edge unfocused

Released in the grey shroud and covered

What has been is gone, what will be is 

Unfolding, what is now is the prayer of

Morning, breaking in slow, dull grace

That which is needed at the edge