The morning light
could tell a million
stories of times
since past.

It’s lived the
promise of new day
so many ages over,
it wisely understands
that simple promise
the very definition
of grace.

It makes me
think that I too,
should like to be
as the morning:

Always returning,
even when my skies
have been clouded
by the night.

Always forgiving,
even when my times
have seemed

Always true,
for I know my place
in this world and choose
to rise faithfully.

Always constant,
offering whatever days
I am given to grace
a healing measure;

Of love’s light.