A dawn yet distant, but still it will rise, spilling gold upon slumbering skies. Not yet seen, but ever near, its warmth will break through doubt and fear. The shadows whisper, fleeting, thin, but light will come and bloom again. No winter lingers without end, no storm endures, no wound wont mend. So dream of fields yet kissed by day, of morning's touch upon the grey. The sun will shine, as it has before, and lead us forth to days of more.