Morning.

Sweet morning
Kiss thy sister sleep goodnight
And hear no more the songbirds cry

They have left us, morning
Left the dreams of sleep these years
For the song of  lonely human tears

Cry no more, the morning
For what a human heartbreak brings
And seek a lighter sorrow,
Which may, tearless, in the morning sing

Seek no more the heartache
Of a sweet and sleepless light
But seek a lighter dawn
Which is forever streaming bright

Dream, dreamsong, morning star
Crave a night which loves you
Yet knows not what you are.
You are the morning, dreamsong!

The morning smiles on lovers, and calls them softly to awake
You are a goddess, dreamsong, for lovers who have prayed
That you their soul may take.

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I seem to remember riding my bike, on a particularly pretty and beloved bike path, during my Peterborough days. And having these words come into my mind - and ceasing my bike riding adventures for a moment to write them down on some scrap papers.

Dreams of unborn children, stream forth.

We are the water, we are the cloud and the house from whence the rain comes.

We are the circle wherein the fire dwells.

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Yoga teacher training, in Costa Rica.