Daybreak

What's that! That, on the horizon there!

A desperate streak of pink like a signal flare!

A coded message from the rising sun,

Telling of victory; it has only begun.

Birds soar triumphantly over the land,

Spreading the news to be heard by all man.

They sail over fortresses high in the trees,

Proclaiming to butterflies, brackets, and bees.

"The Night, it is finished, its time has run out!"

To every last soul who will listen, they shout.

Gliding over the battlefield, now freshly won,

Reciting their joyous news to all, everyone.

Cautious chrysanthemums creep from their buds,

Once interred, closed down under the mud.

They wriggle from their bunkers, if only to see,

This news that they hear- is it true? Can it be?

"It is true," glows the sun, now further raised in the sky,

Gradually greeting each surface, by and by.

"Night has been vanquished, the shadow is through.

No longer this pestilence thrives over you."

This promise he keeps, for now anyway,

Perhaps he will break it at end of the day.

But it matters not! The battle is won!

And all of it started with a rising sun.