Morning is a pile of ashes, half dreams remain, not to trouble
but usher in the dawn.
sleep that ever evasive friend
runs away to new pastures to count his black sheep.
...
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so saying my morning prayers, glad to be alive, lighting another candle, adding to my days, and wonder why worthier men have died. all wonder....... every morning is a gift that God is not yet tired of me........ thank u dear poet for your wisdom. tony
this is quite good and I can relate to it. I like the imagery, it fits the narration well. Somber but meaningful. Nice work. tfs