People look east so says the song.
Wise ones from a time long gone.
Even now my mornings feast
on coffee cupped windows facing east.
The colors wake in vibrant sheen
Over the limolicious green.
I have few windows facing west.
Intentionally I could turn, I guess.
I rather like the promise of the day
Leaning into fresh light on display.
Hope is a muscle that must be flexed
From one sunrise to the next.
So I look east after I have slept
thankful for a promise kept.
The light grows for me as it must
the hope I need from dawn to dusk.
Deb Grant, resilient child of God, creative tinker of paper, ink, wood, shiny things, paint and words. The human amusement of a parrot and a dog.
Writer, poet, artist, human, citizen, learner, scruffy, goof.
Word Food by Deb is randomly published. More than weekly, less than daily at the following media sites: