Same mornings, different risings.
Mornings come with a delight.
They come with a new light.
They come with colours being sprayed on the fateful night.
They come with glimmer all over in sight.
They come with dainty pigeons taking full flight.
They come portraying nature's bounty all in might.
But some mornings...,
Begin on tracks.
Or roads sometimes cemented, sometimes cracked.
Not with vivid hopes, instead with commitments that lag.
In shaggy rags, with burdened backs.
They pick up the things we throw, this is how they simply grow...
Take a look at them in the morning light,
To find out where they were left by the dreary night.