Sunday Morning Poem by Joni Moosman

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning I look out across dew covered fields.
Water wheels, sparkle and shimmer in the morning light.
Blue hills lay quiet on the horizon, still sleeping from the night.
While the stars have kissed their faces goodbye.

My spirit is so restless now and the world so blue.
I know there is no help, because I'll I can do is think of you.
I reach out into the silent house and pull your humble spirit next to mine.
I can hear the sound of your boots as you come to me.
Your rusty red horse's hooves softly moving through tall the tall grass of a mountain meadow.

Memories of a mountain ride when the rain was falling.
You said, Honey get off your horse and walk awhile.
You took my hand and we walked slow under the trees.
The thunder with its flashes of light never mattered, for we were free.
I can see a little mist drift and retreat into the blue canyon ledges.
Why must I breath when you do not? Why am I here and you are not?
In the silence of this house I hear you say;
'I have always loved you, but I didn't know how much.'
It mends my heart with its shattered edges.

I let you go my love, the saints are calling, calling me to church.
I hear our ancestors and loved ones too!
Just for a moment I turn my face to the east,
where blushed colored clouds make way for the sunrise it is true.
God why did you make me a cowboy's wife?
It was never an easy life, hard work and full of strife.
His rib is always burning in my side.
He's taken my heart and wrapped it in a red kerchief.
With its fancy white design at a co-op he did purchase.
Then he stuck it in his jacket pocket where the alfalfa leaves ride.
Then in the morning I find those leaves upon my pillow.
Darling you are to kind.

I wipe my tears away and put on my best black Sunday dress.
I hear my brothers and sisters calling,
They are singing 'Come come ye saints, no toil of labor fear.
All is well all is well, but with joy mend your way.
Though hard this journey may appear. Grace shall be has your day, it is better far.
How my soul know it as I run to my car.
Joni Moosman