The Pink Grey

The pink grey
At the break of the day
Is like light shining through clay.
It seeps into me
In a strange way,
As my thoughts stray
From dreaming
To seeming
Coherence.
Then pink grey
Loses opacity
As my mind
Regains its capacity
For thinking of things to say,
And the light's play
As the dawn unfolds
Brings real clarity.
And as pink grey
Becomes blues and gold,
I long for a child's charity,
Which would present to me,
Without being told,
My breakfast, on a tray.