Windowsill
©Brendalee
As Morning breaks on her windowsill
she hears the song of the whippoorwill.
A new day she is lazy to leave her slumber
desires not to leave the cover she is under,
For the days of late have been trying
and the life lived before was dying.
She knows not what lies ahead
and so much so wants to stay in bed.
Not face another ache within her bone,
aware of a presence she is not alone.
Because she knows there is a higher plan
she rises to the occasions set before her in this land.
She sat and watched from her windowsill a love that danced and played,
a love of strength and passion, one of God not manmade.
This love was in her minds eye, could only see not touch,
for she believed she was not worthy of such.
Time was taken and all attempts not completed
for a liar and a thief on her windowsill was seated.
It stole from her, her, dignity it lied about her life.
It led her to believe that she was meant to live with strife.
She settled in, got comfortable, even became recluse.
Until which time touched by angels her spirit was set loose.
