hours before sunrise

A drop of wine
so red and fine
down it drops
bearing hopes
feeling no
seeing no
hearing no
evil.

A shade of red
a book unread
somewhat old
and yet untold
the stories in
the tellings in
the wisdom in
a waste.

A feather flies
a crow now dies
plummage black
o'er the shack
so loud a cry
so fine a cry
so young a cry
it's gone.

A cloud of white
a peaceful sight
the morning comes
over the slums
a coming red
a looming red
a tasteful red
so bright.

O'er the world
so much so old
the days that pass
have nights to catch
and hasty so
and surely so
and coming thus
tomorrow.