Therese Gramercy . . . the girl named Trees

Sun Peeking Through Clouds

Sun Whispers

Silently, the morning sun
lifts the shadows from my room,
I hear a whisper in my ear,
wake up, the day you dreamed is here.

A day so clean and fresh and free,
to mold with your own creativity,
to be any way that can light a smile,
to be any place that your mind can find.

You can be an iris in the black spruce bog,
a white swan swimming in a marshy pond,
a lone tree gazing out to sea,
be whatever your heart wants to be.

Write poems while moose laze by your side,
daydream of lilac love under moonlit skies,
dance with breezes, sing with doves,
twirl in the sky with me, the Midnight Sun.

Ponder rocks whose thoughts are a mystery,
unlock doors that never needed keys,
trace the vapor trails left upon the land,
unravel all the questions that you ever had.

Trees are lining paths so you will not be alone,
Birds are rehearsing just to sing your song,
so pack your knapsack, comb your hair,
wherever you are going, I will be there.