The Yellow Morning Sun
Yellow golden sun
shine on my side of the lake.
Light the needles of the tall spruce tree,
and sparkle the wings of the blue jay with new hope.
The water is flowing over the rocks in the stream.
A cool spring bubbles loudly.
The water trickles down from the mountains of oak and ash.
Their roots filter the soil of the earth.
Florals cover the moist ground
as I rest my canoe on the water.
My passion for finer things
do not glow in gold and silver.
They rest in the heart of wonder
like the streaks of light on the lake.
My paddle dips in.
Soft liquid gulps the oar
spreading sequence of motion.
Watch me dive in.
Hear the gentle splash.
Cool water washes my skin.
I am free at last.
My tangled hair flows smooth under water.
My lips surface for air.
Steaming vapor rising all around,
air stolen from last night.
The golden star gleams overhead.
A loon calls from behind.
I bend my oar into the water once more
and row to the restless shore.
I am blessed from this day foward
like light on sunlit waters.
When my time has come
I'll disperse and float away.
By Joanne Kathleen Farrell
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