Come, come to Mother Morning
The night is spoiled and hot
Curled up in small places
Spaces to hide
Let her coax you outside
Come, come to Mother Morning
She’ll wipe away your tears
A hood of birdsong to drown the voices you hear
With her, tiptoe soft as the deer
Away from the excess and madness of cheer
Leave the glasses and empty boxes
The dimly lit halls
The clothes on the floor
Come, come to Mother Morning
About the Creator
Elsa Michaela | @surfthought
When you hear a song
One that stops you in your tracks
That seems spoken from your own mind
Do you listen and listen again?
Follow its streams until a tide,
Inside you
Rushes to fill in the small hollow parts
…Yeah, me too
INSTA - @surfthought
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Comments (1)
Great poem! Fantastic!