The drama in poetry

Morning calls

It was like you were floating. Each snowflake a glimpse of light, like falling stars.

It was like fairy dust fell upon the earth to lift the spell of the Sandman.

Everything was still, silent, except for the Ravens that called morning.

The small birds join in on the song as the earth began to wake, the Ravens in circles the little birds still in trees as they sing to the babies.

The trees had reached towards the burning sun, The few clouds had begun to leave.

the birds had become quiet as they had sunbathed in the light.