the sunlight’s golden rays have cleaved the morning’s mist;
the cold salt-marsh below has breathed the morning’s mist

the midnight oil is burned for my thoughts’ revolving,
only with the sunrise will come sleep; the morning’s missed

headstones silent lie beneath light of coldest stars
their names remain unread; unseen, the mourning missed.

the soothing breath of spring above the melting snow;
the fiddleheads comb dewy gleams, the morning’s mist

a cry that rends the night within a darkened room;
lamp-light shimmers in the eaves the mourning’s missed

a snatch of song, a whispered vow, your eyes I see
within my heart - but only dreams the morning missed.

tomorrow comes; she shines upon the world below;
auric blessings on all she sees, the morning’s mist.

for you the Moon who shines above, a partnership;
and so for me, I shall be be Niamh, the Morning’s miss.