Cry

The cry of the morning
The cold of the air
Assorted snoring
I feel so aware
Of the chortling presence
Of four men asleep
A night full of pain
When the infinite reap
Soulful expression
A tender retreat
A light infused countenance
Sent here to greet
What of their thoughts
Locked in a refrain
Sleep is still prevalent
It is insane
To imagine a morning
Of infinite cries
As one maybe all of their spirit denies
The youth of before
And the varied gait
And the cry of the morning