Dawn

Misty, milky gray
moves over a field,
hovering
waiting to rise
as light catches dewdrops.
Though they sparkle
for a moment,
they are soon gone
with day’s full sun.

Like my heart,
when hope of tenderness
returned
has all but vanished.
Only tiny glimmers remain
on a summer morn, when
warm presses down
on cool
and droplets glisten
for a time,
but theirs is not
a long life.

And yet
the hope of light
that will last
is held out
each dusky, shadowy eve
when I feel the end
of another day
draw near, and
damp grass whispers
promises of
morning light
reflected on dewy blades.
Love will come
and I will shine again.