Poem, “Morning Child” by Kate Dwyer
I write this to me. I write this for you.
Something I’m learning might be of some truth.
To the weary. To the broken. To the used.
It all starts with an orange haired girl I once knew.
She used to be free, used to be so wild.
Life comes naturally to a child.
Remember grandmas house? Endless summer days. Running in the sprinklers! Messy orange braids.
But we all get tired as the sun sets low
And fall asleep as our bodies grow
Her soul got heavy her heart dozed off
When dreams betrayed her trust or so she thought.
It was years before she admitted her doubt
Too painful to look upon all she missed out
The path before her lay covered in dirt
She pretended that disappointment didn’t hurt
Little do we know that the end is a door
On the other side of night is always more
Joy comes with the new day, and with it, Grace
To see life through the radiance of a child’s face
My friend awoke to this new loveliness.
A bed for weary bodies to rest
Crumbling into its billowing sheets
She found herself on solid feet
Who is this orange haired girl you may ask?
I am, and I come with a ragged soul at best
But I pray for the courage to lay down all fear
Turn cursing to singing; morning is here.
Copyright 2017 by Kate Dwyer