Winter Dawn

Fled the stars in all directions,
Leaving Heaven swept and clean.
Then the sun came up in sections,
Like a frozen tangerine.

He was cold but he was singing
As he put the stars to flight;
Then he shortly started flinging
Lariats of golden light.

First he caught St, Mary’s steeple,
Then he caught a dozen pubs;
Then he caught the taller people,
And at last the smaller shrubs.

– R. P. Lister

THE NEW YORKER
JANUARY 30, 1960

Winter Dawn

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