I don't stretch in the morning
When I wake
For the rhythmic cracklings of
My bones remind of where I ache.
So my first task every morn is simple:
Commune with the One who knows my past,
Shed every hair of fear glued to my skin,
Have a warm bath, let the day cast
Its radiance on my feeble being
And my journey is beginning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem