The essence of the morning is the waking of one's self,
the knowing that the someone in must be the someone out,
the peeling off the layers that bind and gag the soul,
the singing through the hazy ways and lighting paths with love.
The essence of the morning is the seeking in the heart,
the finding where to lead the way and where the way can lead,
the cutting through the underbrush and clearing out the weeds,
the basking in the steady shine and cooling with the breeze.
The essence of the morning is the flower in the soul,
the beauty spot that glows and knows where lightness touches song,
the fragrance of the freshness that dews upon the heart,
the dancing of the petals in brightly colored tones.
The essence of the morning is the freeing of the mind,
the wings that rest in quiet thought while camouflaged in beige,
the floating through the clearest blue serenely with elan,
the soaring to the highest reaches where the unknown knows.
Margery Layton
1987
