Frank Corcoran

As yet not rosy-fingered, my day dawns. I greet myself in this friendly dark, cautiously, not quite effusively. I am somebody. This is a, this is my text, an aubade, a salute to what will soon appear as my morning. I write this early prose on water and yet. O light of what´s coming soon on these hills, my new day, fáinne geal an lae, bright ring of my Tuesday. It´s coming down the mountain, created not only by me here, my matutinal now. Sing, Lauds; bawl your head off, loud Laudes. Keep it going, day one of my new creation! Blow , warm bugles! Take a deep breath! He who sings need not scream! To whisper is also okay! Hey!