Early Morning Song: A Poem
Original Illustration by Pauline Baynes
Faces to the East,
eyes intent,
begin to sing
"A cold kind of song,
an early morning kind of song."
Grey clouds lifting,
vivid red seeping
over the East.
Larger than life,
the Sun awakens,
casting brilliant rays
on the drops of dew,
illuminating the spectacular feast,
reflecting off the Stone Knife.
Air full of voices
in a wild tone,
a language unknown,
as thousands of birds
fly from the sun,
brilliant white wings
flapping as they draw near.
They alight, covering
the Table and all around in
a blanket of feathery snow.
Burning, dazzling coal,
alive with radiant fire,
is gently transferred
from beak to mouth.
The song ends,
as beaks that sang
set to devouring
the Lion's Feast.
A rush of wings,
a whirlwind of white,
as the birds take flight,
returning to the morning sun,
leaving behind
an empty Table,
three Sleepers,
and a Star and his daughter.
eyes intent,
begin to sing
"A cold kind of song,
an early morning kind of song."
Grey clouds lifting,
vivid red seeping
over the East.
Larger than life,
the Sun awakens,
casting brilliant rays
on the drops of dew,
illuminating the spectacular feast,
reflecting off the Stone Knife.
Air full of voices
in a wild tone,
a language unknown,
as thousands of birds
fly from the sun,
brilliant white wings
flapping as they draw near.
They alight, covering
the Table and all around in
a blanket of feathery snow.
Burning, dazzling coal,
alive with radiant fire,
is gently transferred
from beak to mouth.
The song ends,
as beaks that sang
set to devouring
the Lion's Feast.
A rush of wings,
a whirlwind of white,
as the birds take flight,
returning to the morning sun,
leaving behind
an empty Table,
three Sleepers,
and a Star and his daughter.