Childhood dawns, frosted and sparkled,
To be gazed at in wonder,
Through windows closed, and spider web patterned,
When the cold could not be endured any longer,
Back to the warmth of blankets, and siblings.

Teenage dawns, shadow dispersing, secretive.
Streaks of light smiling on young loves,
Even dawns were once young, always creative.
The dawn chorus starts with the cooing of doves,
No sleep for ardent lovers in the night.

The Soldier’s dawn, one hour early,
Black shadows emerge as trees or a bush,
Then the advancing enemy, seen quite clearly.
Moving forward to be trapped in ambush,
Try to forget the ensuing carnage.

The punishment dawn, black angry clouds racing.
A white faced soldier stands, white rag on his breast.
A line of Soldiers in front halt their pacing.
Quiet orders given, rifles raised point to the rag on his chest.
A volley of shots, complaining rooks, no more noise, just death,

The dawn of parenthood, floor pacing, crooning,
The bundle of crying now joyously gurgling to welcome the light.,
Having seen the dawn, the infant lays down cooing,
People and dawns permanent fixtures,
That child kept all awake that night.