The dawn,
clumsy in her daily infancy.
Like the birth of a new born fawn,
Rushing upward in her urgency

Rising until the sun is high in the sky.
Up until the dusk rips it from poor little dawn.
Swatting her light down like a fly,
Leaving sad little dawn all by herself, with all her light, simply gone.

But little dawn will not weep.
Because, she knows that soon the dusk will have to give her back her light
For it was never his to keep.
And that soon she will be able to once again make it bright

That dusk cannot keep her from raising the sun.
That he cannot stop her light.
Though how hard he tries this battle can never be won.
And soon again dawn will once again shine bright for everyone to see her light.