I felt that it was the morning
And the house was still asleep,
There were some bodies stirring
But not enough to wake.
Out into the birthing dawn
Out into the streaming day
Out into the whole world,
I’ve come to make my way.
So early there are no limits,
Few cars or trucks or friends,
Not even many birds are up
Or maybe they were just quiet then.
It was all mine for a while
Or did I belong to it,
There seemed to be no boundary
For a seeker and hermit.
A hermit unto myself
But isn’t that the case
For each and every one of us
Who ventures through this place?
Poetry by Don Segal 