In the early morning, ashen hours,
With the sullen patter of rain outside,
Consciousness rises from the depths of sleep
To tremble at mortality’s ever-ticking clock;
Its sound echoing in the quiet stillness
Between night’s death and the morning’s birth.
But when the heavy darkness lightens into gray,
With the first hint of the day’s coming promise
Seeping in around the curtained window’s edges,
All fear fades away in the breaking light of dawn.