IT'S MORNING
BY AMANDA GORMAN
It’s morning, and I sit on the stone bench
to catch the first glimpse of spring.
As I look out at the garden,
I find the path of another.
The sun warms me and silhouettes the ground,
I feel complacent and stuck.
There are no birds at the feeder to shadow
the ground with movement. The water stagnates in their bath
and what does it matter, if I’m as rooted
and bound as the daffodils that have
unapologetically broken through the soil
just to feel the warmth of the sun. | AG