A Fading Sunday Morning.
By: Anyssa Q. E
It is the hour between sleep and wake,
when the starlight hits my inner-eye,
it seems to glitter as light upon lake,
this gleaming spark in a steaming sky.
First a swipe, a dolloped hue;
the rosy blush of morning dew;
a sysphean seeming morning haze,
I've quietly dreamt of better days.
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