A Poem: Rising

Love is what we wake up to,
her hovering face.
We, birds in the nest,
cubs in their lair,
are protected
by warmth of fur,
interweaving of feathers.

Love is what enters us as morning breath
that our shallow gasps upon waking,
our endless aches,
are relieved by her mouth
giving sustenance,
her lifegiving attendance.

That we are without help,
is not the message of the morning.
This love note in sip of tea
sweetened by honey,
rush of warmth in the limbs,
freshness of recharged air.

And the everlasting arms which embrace
to set us anew upon our feet
with another chance at the day.
With her kiss upon the cheek,
her whispered encouragements,
her eternal faith.

And this day,
which is love also,
as a winding road stretching forwards –
now sunlit,
and rising up
as the birds.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
April 2021

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