I arose this morning –
the dawn silently tip toeing,
across the sleeping dark horizon.
Bare stark branches of trees,
gatekeepers of the coming day,
beseech the horns of Luna to stay.
Night has left behind diamonds
glittering, strung across the ground,
a gift for the coming spring.
Tendrils of fireplace smoke waft
with the musky clear, crisp air,
a ritual offering to the hearth.
Fluffy feathered birds chirp awake,
shaking the cold from drowsy beaks,
tenors tuning up for their work.
A distant hound speaks its mind,
announcing another glorious
morning in the American South.
This magical moment of wakening,
carries the heritage of time,
of past and present, of tomorrows.
It touches the soul, the heart,
with things that are gentle reminders
of what it means to be a Southerner.
©2015, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 
As an Englisman, living much further north as well as in a different continent, I find a lot of pleasure in your description of dawn. There’s much in common, but each of us, wherever we stand, seems to feel how special is our own spot on this earth. So I love your conclusion.
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