An eerie light on the eastern ridge
Spans over darkness like a bridge.
It turns to blue, and then to gold,
I watch a newborn day unfold.
The dark is like a canopy,
That’s folding back for us to see,
Another day of clear blue sky,
A promise that the world won’t die.
Then comes the sun up o’er the hill,
That wakens up the nighttime still.
The birds all sing their gaiety,
Another day is made for me.
By Don Rothra