This morning the birds came
before I was conscious.
They came on a sunbeam
from below the eastern horizon
with trumpets for beaks
and the melodies of angels.
My dreams were collapsed
earthquaked by these mighty
choristers of the growing light.
In a language that we all know,
but none of us learned at school,
our ears discern the wonder of day,
pulling us out of our night seas
onto animate land
and they say glory now, tis dawn.
© Mandy Pullen