The muted softness of the pastels,
Soft enough to be an infant's nursery,
Gently filled the post-dawn sky.
I wondered what the sunrise would bring.
The warm glow began to simmer
Along the horizon on the eastern view
Like the start of the Smithy's forge
Blown from its soft glow into a blaze.
The sun came with its fire rising,
Arcing red-hot around the sun.
Within these moments, a new day, born.