I crave the morn. The crystal dew on the petals of an opening rose. The dripping drops of water from the thorns – a ladder of leaking faucets.

There is a comfort to the sun’s early slanting rays; they cast a warm and magical spell. Belief in rebirth; that first draught of fresh clean air; awe, and to be filled with optimistic confidence – these are the gifts of rising with our morning star.

Rest moon, rest.

You’ll be here longer than I.

It is my time,

My time moon,

It is my time to shine.

Sink to your hole in the sea and close those cavernous eyes,

And remember when the sun and I go to bed,

It will be your time to rise.