This poem just won first place in the recent 2010 BYU-Idaho Spirit Week poetry contest.
Dawn Comes Early…
Dawn comes early in the west.
Often, the sun gathers large at first
and then shrinks behind huge purple,
gray clouds until it succumbs while the clouds pass,
and it rises further than the clouds.
Streaming rays, oranges and reds
on the horizon, speak softness
to the new day, always moving in one steady,
upward course, somewhere around the world.
With some trepidation, I walk out
into the dark morning, notice
the oranges and the reds in the east,
trying desperately to show themselves,
maybe even heave themselves
toward the west, where later in the day,
they again succumb to the night
and slip away further into the west.
Yet, I walk on, speculating why the sun creeps
along so tenuously at first, then boldly
during the day. It is like I am—
tenuous at first, and then boldly
although not overbearingly.
Perhaps, I should walk early, try to catch
the sun, learn from its steadiness and how it works
to make the world brighter, happier, consistent.
Perhaps, I should sit on the hill
and just watch the sun, just watch
it grow big and round and bright.
Perhaps, I should just close my eyes,
think of those mornings when I walk
boldly out into the rain, the snow,
the heavy winds, head down, not thinking
of anything in particular—just the mere thought
of trudging forward, into the early morning,
thinking of home, a hot bath, and Cheerios—
all one steady upward course, now and forever.