Late nights have coveted my mornings,
For how quickly does that saccharine dew fade
And leave me in a state of mourning
For the evaporated, decadent crystals who bade
A warm hello and happy day.

And in the late folds of the witching hour,
With most souls asunder in their dreams,
I sit awake with a serenity of dour
As the starless new-moon night not gleams;
Quite the opposite of a chirpy day.

A primordial expanse, the mind’s domain,
Oh how I wish the dreams would stay;
Alas, ethereal portals oft cease to remain
And they dissolve into warm nigh-afternoon rays
On this glorious, late-started day.

After the long, arduous, and raucous din
Of a hardly sonorous shift of clock clicks,
I wind down to the heavenly singing of a violin
And early retreat to the night’s fantasies without tricks,
Earnestly awaiting the forthcoming day.

‘Morrow’s morn is oh so sweet
As I rise early with the glorious sun
To greet him in his embrace ‘fore heat
Encloses the land and mars its brun;
This morning shall make a seraphic day.