light seeps around the edges
of the morning
stroking all the colour
back to life;
flowers bloom anew,
leaves green into
curving silhouettes
imprinted on the clouds
that relinquish grey for pink,
for gilt-edged whites
that echo bougainvillia,
clotted cream just waiting
to be tasted
by the iridescent gleam
on fevered wings,
small scimitar of beak
buried deep in nectar
slight ripple of the petals
as the airborne oil slick
shifts, now up, now down
the rainbow
on the surface of its feathers
echoed in each dew drop
misted in the grass
Midnight Clarity
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hummingbird-7/
