Morning reveals herself,
stepping softly, treading gently,
I march at her pleading, leading
the way to where you lay.
Her music entices and is precisely
what this fool needs. I concede
to her insistence, I offer no resistance.
No pounding percussion, unless you count
the beating of my heart. No blaring
horns to announce our arrival.
As a matter of survival, it comes
without Glocken’s spiel. It is real-
ly a march I’ll join every time.
It starts when morning comes to call,
and lasts as long as love pervades;
I take my place in the soft parade!
© Walter J. Wojtanik