A Poem: Watchperson

I wake up,
watchperson for the morning.
Would the morning’s bird call
be the less for being unheeded,
or the rising sun
stop in its tracks for lack of welcome.

No, but if I wake
the morning sheaves,
the harvest of my heart
are gathered,
and I hold them in my arms
the rest of the day.

It’s not the world that is less
for our lack of notice,
but like a smile offered
as we turn and leave a room,
so we can miss the gifts
that greet, and follow us.

Our sheaves wilted
before they’re gathered in.

Ana Lisa de Jong
May 2018

‘I wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.’
Psalm 130:6

Photo: Gisborne, New Zealand

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