Morning Witness

(Robert Frost was arguably the finest classical style poet of the 20th century. I would never put myself at his level, but this one does capture a little of the feel of his work.)

To greet the dawn, I crossed a meadow green,

still blanketed in jewels of morning dew.

I sat upon a rock, still and serene,

and watched the sky transform from black to blue.

Even before the silhouettes of trees

defined the border of the unborn sky,

I heard the morning song of chickadees

and listened as a loon bid night goodbye.

The entrance of the sun brought colors forth

in hues that brightened slow from dark to light;

'twas not for me to judge this beauty's worth,

but merely to record the glorious sight,

and then to make my way from whence I'd come,

with miles to walk to find my way back home.

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