A silent vow

The dew clings softly to the waking earth, Each blade of grass a jewel reborn to worth. The sun ascends not grand, but stern and sure A silent vow that toil shall yet endure. Beneath its gaze, I lace my boots with care, The scent of dawn still tangled in my hair. I do not seek a path of roses strewn, But strength to walk through thorns beneath the moon. The birds those tireless heralds of the day Know naught of wealth, yet sing their truth anyway. No crown adorns their brow, no throne they seek, Yet in their voice, the brave and humble speak. Their songs remind me,beauty need not bend To shallow praise or means that condescend. Their art is honest, fleeting, pure, and right A map for hearts that labor into light. So let the world be vast and sharply drawn, Its trials carved in granite, cold and strong. Still I will meet it, armed with breath and song, sown, For work that wears like calloused skin on bone. And though the hours test the soul I keep, The chirping dawn has stirred me from my sleep