Early I wake and slowly stumble out the door,
weary feet on battered pavement,
– sadly not batter for pancakes,
too early –
but what is that to me? I look up
with joy, almost hesitating – and see
the half moon shining brilliantly in the sky,
a witness towering in heavens far
to God who placed it there.
My heart is not worthy of such joy –
pain is far more apropos –
but worthiness is not why I rise each morn,
Abba Father
near to me
I cry.