Dawn over the Northern Beaches

And now, for some poetry ...

Incandescent blazed the Sun,
Gently hot, still wreathed in clouds.
Brazenly the Moon, sat high and opposite,
Gloriously pale, unafraid of being found.
Beautiful the Beaches, long and low,
Gladly awake, justifiably proud.

by Angus McDonald

It's nice to be living somewhere that stirs up the poet in me. The words do not do justice to the beauty of the moment, fleeting as it is, when the Sun first breaches the wall of clouds in the morning and rises over the Pacific Ocean.

Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright ...

Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright
In the forest of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And What shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? And what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

- William Blake