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Mother Morning


By Elsa Michaela | @surfthoughtPublished 3 months ago 1 min read

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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  • Alex H Mittelman 3 months ago

    Great poem! Fantastic!

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