The hour is early,

          lonely and dark.

Under the sheltering wing

          of lowering sky

                   an espied star

whispers of morning.

 

With dawn’s delay,

          fading light fails.

Under the sheltering wing

          of far horizon

                   home fires burn,

warming the morning.

 

Night is passing;

          the sun rises.

Under the sheltering wing

          of Spirit’s promise,

                   eastering hope

breathes joy of morning.

 

 

 

Written during the drive from Floydada to Plainview

to Mother’s appointment with the doctor

 to check for colon cancer.