The city woke
Duty-bound and sullen,
Huddled Monday morning
And grey resentment
Stealing rose-gold wonder
From the pocket of necessity.
My road lay westward;
Gilded opalescence
Glimpsed in a mirror,
Easily missed
When the clock is ticking
And ‘elsewhere’ calls.
I raced the sunrise to the hills
And carried you with me,
Wishing to share
The mist and mystery
Of a perfect dawn
And the scent of heather.
France & Vincent 
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