after reading e.e.cummings, for an Imaginary Garden With Real Toads poetry prompt: http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/
Five in the morning,
with night fading out,
as the Spring sun pushes across the sky,
poking stars and planets alike
with insistent finger-rays.
The magpie’s eye opens,
retaining a hint of dream,
and she warbles in the day.
If Helios drives His chariot
rudely across the body of Nuit,
(for They are all one great pantheon in my mind)
then surely, He is drawn by birds,