hey stranger. will you wander off with me?

Dawn’s harbinger flits on wings soft and warm,
Having just met the sun in form.
Heralding o’er sleepy land and sea,
Swiftly breaking dream-chains free.
Leaving gentle love trails of gold,
The sun’s own tresses it is told.
Having done his work e’er so subtly,
Dawn comes behind not quite quietly,
On thunderous hoof and frightening move,
In brilliance burn and beauty churn.
Amidst a chorus angelic and pure,
Of every morning bird of yore,
To shake awake all lonesome life,
And shatter the night of endless strife.
Behold the glory that is done,
For Dawn has come.

*Here I imagine dawn as having a harbinger, and the little small things the harbinger has to do to every morning to prepare for the arrival of dawn.