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  • Writer's pictureTony Frobisher

Dew of The First Morning

Dew of The First Morning The first morning, When day broke, Once more tears softly Flowed, falling to Form dew drops, Distilled to painful jewels Of shadowed thoughts In the quiet, rising sun. Each blade of grass Bent in saddened bow. Row upon row, Mournful, stilled, silent Turned towards the earth. Each droplet shone brilliant Before slowly evaporating To memories. _____________________________ That first morning, after a fitful sleep, haunted by dreams and disbelief. You were gone. And that first morning mixed tears and dew drops, indistinguishable in the light of the sunrise.

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