Noshaba Siddiqui Poetry

I know that cold of Morning:
Gray light, mountain gloom,
Companionship's icy flame,
Small hearted doom.

It is the cold of Morning,
That silent running mind
Beyond the links of reason,
That hedges up and binds.

But morning cold in early June
Swells buds on thorny stems
That blossom into sweetness
As the season bends.

Poet: Leonard M Hawkes