The Sun, Again

By Kaitlyn Grissom

In the morning

There is hope

Born mourning on the slopes

Of a wide green land

Before the day is hot

The way is not

Through broad walkways in the halls of sin

Nor shades of dim

Beneath the trees

But out, out in the wide blue air

When a stout wind blew there

And shook the cool white

Sunlight

In the golden- crowned birches’ light

Tendrils lifted loftily in joy unchallenged far above some petty earthbound care

And I walked a little

Nor straying, nor staying too close to home

And turning to the white-winged heavens in their airy dome

Thought not of old roads nor dark twisting trails

Where cold stark wistful tales

Were spun of old,

But just of how good it was

To feel the sun on my face again.