A Poem: Colours

God is the one in us who rises up
in the morning,
taking shape,

and moves.

And like the morning mist
turning colour
depending how the sun hits.

Taking on a hue of gold,
or the rich red russet
of leaves.

Or God is a tree,

or the trees here
standing like beacons
all aflame,

and we are the mist
lit by the sun,
and turning all the colours of God

this Autumn morning.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
June 2021

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