The steeples swam in amethyst, the news like squirrels swam.
Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime.
Much Madness is Divinest Sense, to a Discerning Eye.
These are the days when birds come back, a very few, a Bird or two, to take a backward look.
I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!
Sunrise: day's great progenitor.