A sonnet for the last day of July

The Sun rises, and so do I


So many odes have dedicated lines
and stanzas to the scattered glory in
a sunrise;  it is both the vibrant signs
of spectral color prior to the fin
of solar orb's appearance, and the mark
of each new day's commencing.  Ev'ry start
is marked with unburnt hopes that just a spark
could set ablaze -- and now I feel my heart
and soul and being looking to the east
as dawning layers flame, as I believe
that I will view the freshness of her feast,
the newness of her nudity, and leave
my lonely night behind. I know not when;
but I will be in handsome state at then.