Waiting for a Glimpse

The sun does not shine past the trees.

The ground is dark, the domain of night.

And we stand in that darkness, looking up,

hungry for a glimpse of light.

Light that never comes, until the wind blows.

Branches sway and bend, and the long night gives way

to an oh too brief dawn.

Then the wind moves on, the branches grow still.

Endless night returns and we return to our vigil,

waiting for a glimpse of light.