Forgotten Practice

Light breeze
Passing cloud
Wide open sky
And a lone Star - Shining.
Not so bright, just enough
For one to sight.

Sound of night
Whispers to my ears
Lines of a poem
That brings home
A morning of hope.

Deep inside
A light sparkles
Not so bright, just enough
To let me write.
A few words -
Worthy not
of any reading.
But ignite
A desire
Of yesteryears.

As the morning comes
A bird sings - of,
a practice forgotten;
Abode deserted.
In a tone, familiar.
Beneath the clouds
The sun shines
Not so bright, just enough
To wake me up
To a morning
Of life.