Sunday Morning Poem

Isn't this is a perfect morning
for bowing down to yourself?
Touch your own foot and say,
'Forgive me, I'm sorry.'
Then bow to your soul and touch
your heart with a feathered breath.
'Forgive me, I'm sorry.'
Isn't this a perfect morning
to love yourself completely,
to offer yourself a flower,
hold it, gaze deep, and let a tear
fall into the cup?
When you love yourself so much
in deep silence
you become the sky.
All your enemies disappear.
In your golden center
a furious soft mingled shivering
of pistil and stamen
creates the world.

Miraculous ordinary flower by Kristy Thompson