Roots Of Faith Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

Night's overwhelming nightmares fade as dawn waves flags of hope
Nocturnal goblins once more bound; now is my chance to cope
My thoughts revisit ancient groves where golden apples grow
And olive branches drip with fruit as gentle breezes blow

I see a narrow path beyond that seems to touch the sky
A place where rain and sunbeams meet and angels swiftly fly
Much like a budding olive tree faith spreads its morning shoots
Into the soil of nightly fears to form hope's tender roots

The olden tales bespeak of groves where golden apples grow
Of tables decked with fish and loaves; of times to reap and sow
I think of lilies in the field we oft are urged to trust
Of heaven's gates bedecked with stones to never fade or rust

So when the morning light appears I think of groves of gold
Of scripture tales of olive trees with roots in sacred mold
And then I view the morning sky spanning so wide and high
Drawing me from my bed of rest to spread my wings and fly.