Sunrise, among neglected stones of people long gone,
The air damp and misty, the dim and brightening sky
Already exhausted.
Remnants of red wine in a dark glass bottle, still cold,
As the first morning of the new year rises up into the sky.
You put on a good show. You smiled through the fears.
In the mists, maybe a ghost will come, to tell that at least
Heaven is waiting, and this loss and pain can be redeemed,
That God really will wipe away your tears.
Head spins as the world spins, and spinning brings the light.
Morning is the kindest time of the day, tenderly packs your dreams.
Last of the red wine. Last of revelers hope.
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