Some mornings are marked in the calendar.

A dusty barren walkway

trodden everyday.

The night had nurtured seeds silently

and the morning sun watched the night depart.

Small sprouts surfaced by the time,

and the night did not know.

But the ever vigilant sun noticed.

The seedlings danced with the wind

carrying in their heart the secret the night never knew.

They were the offspring of darkness and the light.