The rising sun; its pivotal salutations rain down upon me
Though beforehand a writer in the dreadful cold of night arises
Once again blinded by the darkness no light to behold,
Always this spell, dreaming of some inspiration.
Within an awakening the soul prospers within this sunrise
Now devouring this warmth, truly forming grand words
Until brilliance so clear and alive take hold
Awakening sometimes in the impressions of time
Even when this writer ravished by storms raining down
Down into the depths of his soul, therein do I reside
Never digressing; never letting go through these hours.
