Dear:

 Dear Cold Sunrise,

I greet you every morning

from my window 

where night’s shadows linger

like secrets left untold.

You rise, a brush of gold

and azure, cutting through

frost, an artist

painting the world daily.

In the far distance,

mountains wear your glow,

their peaks kissed,

by a tender light.

And I wonder if

they feel the chill

of your embrace 

as you wake them

from slumber.

With admiration,

A Watcher of Your Splendor