The Morning Still Comes

The longest night I ever lived
still ended.
(the morning still comes)

There were nights I watched the ceiling
like a stone inside a well,
counting every 3 a.m.
the clock refused to tell.
I thought the dark had won the lease,
thought dawn had lost my street —
then gray, then gold, then birdsong
came collecting, soft and sweet.

Nobody promised painless;
they promised something true:
that night, for all its talking,
has never stopped the blue.

The morning still comes — (still comes)
over the hardest year, the longest run.
Grief can bar the door at midnight,
but it can't outlast the sun.

Still comes. (every time)
Still gold. (down the blinds)
but it can't outlast the sun.

Ask the widow pouring coffee
on the first day she hums;
Ask the widow pouring coffee
on the first day she hums;
ask the father at the mailbox
when the college letter comes.
Ask me — I kept the curtains open
through the worst of the war:
not one single morning
ever failed to find my floor.

Nobody promised painless;
they promised something true:
that night, for all its talking,
has never stopped the blue.

The morning still comes — (still comes)
over the hardest year, the longest run.
Grief can bar the door at midnight,
but it can't outlast the sun.

Truth is, hope isn't loud. It's punctual.
It doesn't argue with the dark —
it just keeps the appointment,
east window, every day,
whether I believe in it or not.
So I started meeting it there.

Mm. (east window)
Mm. (every day)
(hope is punctual)

The morning still comes — (still comes)
over the hardest year, the longest run.
Grief can bar the door at midnight,
but it can't outlast the sun.

Put the kettle on.
The light's already on the table — it came looking for us.
The morning still comes.
The morning still comes.
(the morning still comes)