Mehr,



When the fresh yolk rises
In the east,

\
This is where I know you’ll be.


When the winged messengers
begin to stir
in the morning blur,

\
This is where I know you’ll be.


When the rays rise/
to christen treetops,
and the steeple
has radiantly appeared,

Still,
I know;

This is where you’ll be;


Counting sets of 8,
beholding the twinkle of tonight’s
sky-dust.

Tomorrow, Mehr.

Tomorrow

is yet

A fresh dawn to sweetly greet.

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