Who Rushes In

Song of my childhood
in morning sings,
perched on the branch
of a precarious tree,
and thanks the day
with songs to wake
from its slumbering sleep;
the World.

As does the child
who rushes in,
with tiny but thundering
barefoot feet,
and jumps the bed
where her parents sleep,
with the day so full
of wonder, of glee.

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