When I rise, it will be on some strong sunlit day,
When all the trees in time will sway.
When I rise, it won’t be phoenix-like from the ashes,
Instead, I will climb and scramble up the healed scars
Which are sitting on my back.
When I rise, it will be as the warms winds
Tilt around and lift my face towards the sun.
When I rise, it will mean,
At last, my time has come:
But it will be with imagination and kindness, done,
And not by standing in the spaces of others,
And when I rise,
I promise you will be the first to know.