The Glorious Son
A poem by ©Christine Bode 2019
Ahh, the glorious sun!
From the land of lucid dreaming
I wake,
stretch,
throw off the covers and
greet my dog
who lies beneath me beside the bed.
Drawing the curtains,
I welcome a new day,
always more cherished when the sun is glorious
shining through the cloudy thoughts of
mistakes I’ve made.
The wrong men I’ve given my heart to,
how stuck I feel in this life—lost more than found,
and how much I miss my sister.
Waking thoughts that are as reliable
as the chubby squirrels
who continue to forage for food
on the pathway behind the
Bowling Greens,
those all-weather rodents who
just go on with their lives
and never let the weather
get them down.
When the sun shines in winter, it casts its rays of hope,
offering strength for perseverance, motivation,
to endure another dark night of the soul.
So, I’ll be here to bear witness
to the perfect beauty of the lavender crocus
as she peeks through the cold, hard ground
with her saffron eye and turns her face
towards that glorious sun,
a symbol of courage
as we both face a new day.