The Writers' Circle

GOOD MORNING was the cry
That came at first light
As the words burst forth
And sprung into flight

They spiralled and dove 
In the fresh morning air 
As they passed a young schoolgirl
And ruffled her hair

Whistling from kettles
As they screamed the alert 
For the first morning tea
And jam on clean shirts

They soared way above 
The world at midday
But headed poor Icarus 
And stayed in cloud shade

They followed the sun
In its arc of the sky
From East through to West
All that way they did fly

And when night had dawned
And goodmorning said goodbye
The voice sank with the sun
And GOODNIGHT was the cry