Joy does come in the morning, but, it seems to me, it is flavored by sorrow.
Weeping
They say
May spend the night
But morning comes.
Morning always comes
Somehow
Somewhere.
It does not erase
The weeping
No
The weeping is woven in
To the morning
It brings its own flavor,
Its saltiness,
Sometimes even a bite
Of coriander,
A tang of citrus
To flavor the morning.
Weeping
May indeed spend the night
But the morning
Does not deny it.
The morning
Claims it.
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