The morning after - pc-p 08

postcard: Brighton
poem: Emily Dickinson - Out of the morning

Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like water-lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!

The postcard was bought back in the late 1990s on my first (and to date only) visit to Brighton. We visited the Royal Pavillion and I remember being very smitten with the kitchen. We walked to the pier and along the little side streets and I loved the wee shops. I probably helped that it was a sunny day. I seem to remember a very pebbly beach, where we sat and had ice cream.
 
When I copied today's poem I knew I was going to see that friend in the evening, performing with the wonderful Edinburgh Love Music Community Choir. Their performances are always so joyful and uplifiting. We had a beer together afterwards and naturally the conversation shifted to the US election. As I am backblipping this, I feel a poem about morning to be quite fitting.

NaPoWriMo - my version of it; sending a postcard-poem each day of November. Here is the how.