SUNDAY MORNING COMING DOWN

The air is soft this morning
It has a right to be
It is Sunday
The Day of Rest
We are alone
In our thoughts
We see a little dust
In the sky by the sun’s light
It floats gently downward
We wonder who we are
And why we are here
Those who have left us
Are not really gone, but
Are within us and
We feel them and have hope
That they recognize us
We can hear their laughs and
Remember their idiosyncrasies
Did they ever disappoint as
We feel we are disappointing to some
They don’t know and we will never know
We would just like to get a grip
On this very thing called life
We work until we are sore
Then forget what we were after
Or our efforts are destroyed
By someone else’s demands
And we stay for abuse or
Walk away with tolerance
Looking for our next foolish deed
As gardeners we know that
The weeds are going to keep coming
So we work with them or around them
The animals of the kingdom nibble away
At our prize collection of flowers
We trim and spray and remain happy
We think again about the day
About our loses and recollections
We feel happy for what we know
And sad for things that broke down
But this is life and it keeps repeating
Many times to unseasoned joy
 
Stanski
June 28, 2020 ^