It's 5 am,
pitch dark and rather cold.
Above, his wife untroubled in her sleep.
Alert for sounds of motion
but contented,
he sits
and softly prays.
"My God you know I'm grateful for all kindness,
one tiny thing I miss,
the day-star rising
... locked as I am
- within
----a tight
------routine."

Shrill calls punctuate
trills and chirrups.
Enchanting little tweedles add support.
Heralds announce!
An intimation of light
breathes
and bathes the horizon.
Darkness
yields to form.
Stark trees
outlined in fresh blues
with ribbons of washed rainbow above.
Dawning.
More bird-song
as shapes meld into shadow.
Grey, brooding sky.
False dawn,
an allegory of life?

Hopes raised:
unfulfilled.

No!

Dawn
will
come.