“Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours—your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth againTo the dream.” – Maya Angelou, On the Pulse of the Morning
“Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.” – Maya Angelou, On the Pulse of the Morning
Pulse of a new day.
The rhythm and rhyme.
Poetry woven throughout, rising up, overflowing.
Birthing, renewing, restoring.
Flowing like a river.
Deep roots.
Rock solid.
Good morning, good day, good life.
Accept the invitation.
Grace, hope, joy.
“Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes,
Into your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.” – Maya Angelou, On the Pulse of the Morning