alba
P. Cardy
far through rain-dark trees
grey morning calls
silent meadows sing
an ancient calm
still in shrouded dreams
mist wondrous falls
twilight visions cling
night pallor gone
sudden with voices older than mind
shadows rise from stone
stalking canyons deep with time
where bones of sun-scoured hills
unfold and joyous ring
a holy dawn
far through rain-dark trees
grey morning calls