early morning

Would rather be sleeping but since that isn't the reality at the moment, I found a poem to read and enter here;

Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks

I am the blossom pressed in a book,

found again after two hundred years...

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper...

When the young girl who starves 

sits down to a table

she will sit beside me...

I am the food on the prisoner's plate...

I am water rushing to the wellhead,

filling the pitcher until it spills...

I am the patient gardener 

of the dry and weedy garden...

I am the stone step,

the latch, and the working hinge...

I am the heart contracted by joy...

the longest hair, white

before the rest...

I am there in the basket of fruit

presented to the widow...

I am the musk rose opening

unattended, the fern on the boggy summit...

I am the one whose love

overcomes you, already with you

when you think to call my name...

Jane Kenyon

Found it soothing- to read such a poem and let the images float in the mind.