Rosy Fingered Dawn On Lesbos Poem by Christopher McInnes

Ah the daffodils, yellow-blasting the white stillness
of coldflakes in the morning, gold trumpets shaking
crunchy crystals from shivering lilybuds.

And a red-faced wren, caught with a nasty slither
in its birdmouth, gobbles breakfast
to a sun-wakening songwall.

That was the dawn, the rising time, when music
swirled around like a tuney mist and the newborn, cheeky Light
gave old doddery Night the rosy finger.