I saw the sunrise before falling asleep,
A light that paused my reticent weep,
Lilt of the birds with a trail of the dew,
Rang in the azoic senses like aught new.
Pink of shy was the colour of the sky,
Dallied without even a stirring sigh,
A heart that felt nothing to the rise,
Eyes saw, but did not fathom it wise.
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