This is the day that the Lord has made.
We will rejoice (and rejoice) and be (humbly) glad in it
Ps.118:24
Seems like every new day bleeds/breeds
A fresh crop of poems seeds
Seems like every season spills
Plethora of poem-thrills
Seems like every hour bared
Begs a poem to be snared
Seems the world is full of ink
Bidding thirsty bards to drink
Seems life is a garden room
Where poem-buds wait to bloom
Seems a pity then to haste
While a poem goes to waste
Where a moment waits to be
Woven into poetry
Seems reason enough to pause
To glean glints of poem-gauze
Seems like everywhere we look
Life is like a poem brook
Where each new day lilts and brims
With ten-thousand poem-hymns
© Janet Martin
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