Passing Through Poem by Gregory Huyette

Wet blades in the shade of an old house
Scatter as a mouse shatters the dew,
On this morning as i pass through.

A city asleep beneath a deep eastern ray
Is herlded from slumber by a trumpeting jay,
Who christens the day anew,
On this morning as i pass through.

Golden hair and a rare trace of green
Can be seen, transfigured in the treetops
By autumn’s brush as a thrush scampers from view,
On this morning as i pass through.

Dawn’s drowsiness is shaken as a baby awakens
To the city’s soft ceiling of blue,
On this morning as i pass through.