A Poem: Sunday Song

The birdsong has broken down
the temple walls,
that the life might stream out.

Sweet bird on a humble branch
delicate and unobtrusive.
Against the great quiet
your morning voice
has caused something to shift.

The birth and death of stars
hardly compares
to your small still form,
flitting through leaves
like a dancing shaft of light.

There is something in me
that forgoes the crowd,
that does not anywhere belong,
Though of the great body
I am formed.

But your presence on the branch,
shows me that the walls
are all down.
Broken by creations
propensity to expand.

Life that runs through every
living thing
rises in me like sap.
As like a great living tree
I stand in beams of grace

which fall upon me
where I stand.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
August 2018

‘Sing O heavens for the Lord has done this wondrous thing.
Shout O earth; break forth into song, O mountains
and forests yes, and every tree….’
Isaiah 44:23

‘You’re the voice I hear calling my name.
You’re the song inside my head,
you’re the whisper in the wind and rain
when I listen.
Teach me to listen
In the morning, in the morning
your mercies are new.
In the morning,
I listen to you.’
Jason Upton


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