A reawakening so refined, Unblemished retreat deep in silence, Mannerisms willfully suppress mayhem. An outcry lingers to ride the cape, Of an encroaching sunset, Blanketed in prismatic gold sequence. Sleep like a rare Morning Glory, Abiding in discipline, Delayed in eloquence. Much is to be exhibited, Pungent smell of revival, No glacial falling star, Among the shadowy night, Can ever mask. (c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.