The tones of dawn are rustic,
Red, wrapped in fading grey.
Relevant to sarcastic,
Temper of looming day.
City, by all accounts,
Festive in crime of life,
Verve, that often flaunts
Merits in mortals of thrive.
Putrid in own verities,
Replete of colors improved,
Day gets to its charities,
Deaths, births, other cruft.
- Bad day to you, Mr. Simpleton,
Don’t bleed your knuckles on wood.
- I wont, replied Mr. Simpleton, cause,
“God saw that the light was good…”