When Conditions Were Good

The sudden swell of pink light
Surprised you that morning. Dawn

Is a gradual device,
Even in desert canyons,

But that time, if not a switch,
Then sort of a dimmer switch,

Surging background radiance,
That made you lift your head, look,

And notice the rush of pink,
Day that knew how to begin,

How to wave a bright hello
And wink at good things to come.

A really old-fashioned poem
Would claim humans light dawns, too.