But, On This Morn (For One Shoot Photography Sunday)

Photograph courtesy of James Rainsford
                                                

It is the odd occasion my face forges a smile
Forgetting granite stone
Above my only child

Not often stringless hearts like mine compose great symphonies
Joyful rhythms of the shore
Melodies from sea

Hardly ever dawn’s warm sun will burn up all my mist
But on this morn in memory's scorn
I venture out and kiss

A scent with lips so soft
Drapes me like a shawl
Makes my soul sprout wings
And fly with gulls aloft

It’s not a dream but real
Grace with warmth adorned
Soaring high in your embrace
A chance to truly heal

Seldom love will open all my dusty window shades
Allow the day to march in
Like a band and play

Rarely clumsy feet so cold can be convinced to dance
But with cymbals crashing loud
Strength leads me to chance

Stubborn shadows whisper a haunting echoed hiss
But on this morn in memory's scorn
I venture out and kiss

A scent with lips so soft
Drapes me like a shawl
Makes my soul sprout wings
And fly with gulls aloft

It’s not a dream but real
Grace with warmth adorned
Soaring high in your embrace
A chance to truly heal

Birthed from rarest moon azure I sit by a new beach
With breezes singing in my ear
I permit my heart to reach

First time in seven years I throw sunglasses off my eyes
I sweep death’s darkness off the grave
Along with Satan’s lies

I know one day I’ll see my son it’s more than just a wish
In Heaven near the throne of gold
I’ll hold him close … and kiss

A scent with lips so soft
Drapes me like a shawl
Makes my soul sprout wings
And fly with gulls aloft

It’s not a dream but real
Grace with warmth adorned
Soaring high in your embrace
A chance to truly heal

But on this morn in memory’s scorn
I venture out and kiss