This poem is from my “Pio and Lilly” writings which include many poems, stories for children and a novel, none of which are published yet… but I hope… Pio is a Franciscan monk, a gentle, bumbling man with a poetic soul, and Lilly a “wild woman” raised with animals who is so free in her spirit that wild things have no fear of her. The writings are about their adventures together in Southern France sometime before the industrial revolution. Hope you enjoy the spirit of it
It was a wonder of day dawn, like the down of a swan,
deep down soft was its beginnings,
soft with first light singings and the whispers of love.
A day for goodness to be drawn out of goodness
and for all beautiful thoughts to be written down
for children to read.
It was a day of orange light splashing on white walls
when first-light broke in the east
as birds were longing into their songs
and cows were lowing for milk stands
and wild ducks creaked overhead
It was a golden woman
who rose up stretching in her white gown
to greet the new wonder of dawn
which came slashing with fiery fingers
through the blue-gray stillness
that fleetingly reigns in the holy hush
before bird song.
She leapt up from her bed like an eagle springs from its nest
and pounced across the floor to lean hard out the window,
hungry to see day.
And the day came tender for day was young,
just out of the dark womb of night she sprung:
and she was frisky as all young things are.
Day was innocent, for she was new,
(in spite of the dark musings of many minds
which cast burdens of past days upon her),
still day knew not yet of them
as she came bursting forth like a golden gazelle
from the blue brush of night.
Lilly knew that every day is birthed with a kiss
for she tasted it all with her child-like heart.
“Oooo, curew,” she cried, and then again,
“Oooo…” soothing her voice into the harmonies
of morning doves under dark eves.
And Pio, who had long been awake in the dark
pondering his holy books
by the small, soft dawn of a candle
knew too that this was the true new day
for he relished its fiery birth.
His prayers had long risen up fresh
like invisible incense into the hush,
for it was Pio’s own dutiful custom
to create in the first light
an effusive, fragrance of prayers
and to loose his thoughts like white birds
amongst morning stars.
So while Pio generated poetical prayer
Lilly had slept in a woman-child’s wild dreams
until gold rays silently spilled into her room
to light upon her face.
Then up she sprang like a child on Christmas morning
and ran to him, humming a little song,
crashing through his doors,
standing there, breathing hard and singing:
the very embodiment of Pio’s prayers…
their perfect answer.