Just Before Dawn

The dawn is peeping a red and ribald eye

over the mountain.

No one is awake.

The morning birds will not yet sing.

The sleepy valley is still nestled

in the arms of night.

But out in the meadow,

in the mist rising up from the icy fields,

a young doe is dancing lightly

on her tiny hooves.

An elven chorus, murmurous,

is chanting in the veld,

and the skybirds awaken, 

all a-flutter.

In a feathered heap,

they tumble out of the trees.

To witness this magic,

you must arise

just before dawn,

and disguise yourself

as a shrub.

one from 2014, shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.