Morning was sacred, deeply still in solitude.
You fetched yourself early to rise before the sun,
felt the impassive night break into dawn.
Tranquil was the chill of those hours,
when shadows of night become familiar by day,
but you slept deep in your bed, never to wake again.
Process Notes: I’ve been thinking of my father lately. He passed away 8-years ago next month. I’m no longer crippled by this loss but I do think of him almost every single day. I smile now. My father was a postman, by the way, and loved the mornings. Written for MLM, poem form “Cherita” 3 stanzas: 1 line, 2 lines, and 3 lines each that form a complete story. Inspired by text ‘Found” in Charles Dickens “Three Ghost Stories”.