Monotonous Delight
With each passing day
There comes a monotony.
Arriving as the same old, same old.
The oneness of time and occurrence.
The sun rises in the distance,
Its color always radiant,
But always one, with only a cloud or two
To kiss its sameness. Its hue.
The wren and finch work their tune
As in a competition, always there.
Always drowning out all others.
Flitting and jumping about nervously.
The leaves do their wind dance,
Waving "good morning."
Swaying, swerving, hanging.
Always. But always.
What routine they have, all nature
Shines, flies, sings and rings
Out to me. To all
Yet never grows old,
Nor ceases to amaze.
We thank you old sol.
We hear you bright fowl.
We see you turning leaves.
A symphony performing for us.
Each day. What amazement.
What sheer delight.
We thank you, ... all.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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