The Willow Am I
Some people live in the night
While owls of the morning sleep,
And small raindrops creep in the dusk
Like birds of prey upon the dewy grass.
The Willow am I, punished by the hidden sun
That laughs on the edge of night
As I curse the screaming dawn
And burning dew of darkness
To find that subtle light
Embedded in my timeless searching.
How I panic at my failure
To touch its screen from within and without.
I will drown in its rain of sight renewed,
And my thirsty roots,
Blinded in the dark earth,
Shall drink of its golden liquid.
Copyright ©2018/03/23 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com
Image: “Sun’s Treasure” digital art ©Martha Harris