avatarLivia Dabs RN,MSc

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Abstract

p id="14b1">startle your sleeping ears to hear.</p><p id="9b3c">Behind my windows,</p><p id="549f">hundreds of parrots are singing</p><p id="3dff">slowly in my awaking.</p><p id="3309">The gran symphony begins</p><p id="3195">with a great crescendo</p><p id="b2ed">while the monkeys</p><p id="a5fc">join with sforzando.</p><figure id="e09f"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*Y9Jpemg9m9GpYE35LFBAcA.jpeg"><figcaption>Courtesy of the Author: The Monkey in Rescue at the Sanctuary San Miguel Rancho</figcaption></figure><p id="56f3">Behind the scene, the dogs are barking</p><p id="92b4">roosters are crowing</p><p id="099e">and you know the ocelot kitten</p><p id="904e">is behind the door</

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p><p id="fe4a">waiting.</p><figure id="23ff"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*qNPpk1yX5cGy9Hv5CUv_xg.jpeg"><figcaption>Courtesy of the Author: The Ocelot orphan kitten ( his mother died)</figcaption></figure><p id="8583">Despite my resentment to wake up early</p><p id="f961">I miss those mornings dearly.</p><p id="f72b">I can still</p><p id="ffcd">see them,</p><p id="ba1a">feel them,</p><p id="22a1">In my mind.</p><p id="fd8a">Even I left the Nicaraguan jungle</p><p id="9278">Behind.</p><p id="bada">I never felt</p><p id="2edd">so close to wilderness</p><p id="ed76">Before.</p><p id="15ff">Now I can only</p><p id="1e33">Yearn for it</p><p id="457f">even more.</p></article></body>

The Sacredness of Nicaraguan Mornings

Reflective poem about my memories from Nicaragua 2018

Photo by Gabriella Trejoss on Unsplash (Masaya, Nicaragua)

It is 4 AM in the morning at the San Miguel Rancho

when birds’ distant voices, yet unclear

startle your sleeping ears to hear.

Behind my windows,

hundreds of parrots are singing

slowly in my awaking.

The gran symphony begins

with a great crescendo

while the monkeys

join with sforzando.

Courtesy of the Author: The Monkey in Rescue at the Sanctuary San Miguel Rancho

Behind the scene, the dogs are barking

roosters are crowing

and you know the ocelot kitten

is behind the door

waiting.

Courtesy of the Author: The Ocelot orphan kitten ( his mother died)

Despite my resentment to wake up early

I miss those mornings dearly.

I can still

see them,

feel them,

In my mind.

Even I left the Nicaraguan jungle

Behind.

I never felt

so close to wilderness

Before.

Now I can only

Yearn for it

even more.

Poem
Poetry
Nature
Wildlife
True Story
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