DRIFT
A half moon wanes,
Floating on birdsong.
The world spins towards darkness,
And spins towards light.
Clouds stretched, skeined,
Soft-edged, rippling.
A drift, a slow drift
Into day.
This quiet time,
Twilit, a gift given
Before the goad of doing.
—
simonhlilly 
Lovely rhythms here, Simon, and fine use of goad, too.
Aye, a grand word!