The thrush in the morning

 The Thrush in the Morning

 

Night’s covers slip away at the gentle touch of dawn,

Light enters with softest footfall

And earth stretches itself from its sleepy languor.

A tender smile on the sun’s lips welcomes today’s emerging life,

Its mother-whispers ushering us through the dreamy thresholds of our waking.

 

And you, little bird, give voice

to the joy of this morning.

Roused by first light,

your song spills out,

unstoppable,

as icy water from its source.

 

Hearing you, I too rise to the music of this day.

March 2014

@2018 by Anna Bosatta