I will get up sunrising
in the morning to be able
to see outside the window
itself not an abundant branch
lost for little larks.
To hold in hand tomorrow
and have in heart yesterday
to keep in mind today's
sunrising
when the larks refuse to sing.
They sang songs of sunrising
but do not anymore
sonnets of the week are replaced
by words of tire squealings and exhaust fumes
choked out
drowned out
And no amount of tears can make the
songs of sunrising
make tears of mine again.