The Rise of the Sun

On cold mornings enough, I cannot grasp the heat cast from afar, like the desert leading traveler's feet. To the forest unlit, the hard-packed soil by frozen lake, and by the meandering path I know I must take. From whence the light of destiny must shine: Broadly arching through the glorious foliage divine. But when I hear night's calling, a longing part, I steer away, the overwhelming helmsman's heart. Arise, arise the sun breathes deep anew, raised up from darkness, its revolution flung aschew. Then what I saw: the fires of redemption burning high above the dell, The overheated furnace of freedom reincarnated in Hell. Now I only wish that earth could feel the gentle warmth and touch, and kiss the righteous heel of foot that means so little much.