These little faces,
open to light, rooted
in the humus I came from.
These blooms that wait,
unfurl just as morning
sun breaks the horizon,
just as the dew gentles
the dust and the stems
imbibe, slake the thirst
from the long linger
of night, just as I rise,
call out, surrender my
needs before that same
Creator who clothes
the wildflower and causes
the morning wren to sing,
the One who restores you
and restores me.
—C.L. Fisher, October 2020
Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.
Poetic Meanderings 