This Day

This Day

I have seen this day before
And foolishly have walked on by
Too full of me
My meager ways
Obscured from sight by
Molehills risen as mountains,
Such self-creations
These clouds brewed within,
While missing the mare’s tails that scud above
As they gloriously steamship by.

I stumbled-on too frequently,
  eyes down
  half closed
  half blind.

This day starts like any other
In its thousand different ways
Though this one has made a modest point
To call unassuming attention to itself.

Ands so as if to say,

She spoke to me:
You found the woes of winter such
That I have brought in sweet bouquet
And sumptuous songs of sparrow-speak
These dewy jewels on verdant grass
And zephyrs bearing blossom showers
Redolent reminders of such beauty here
Yours but for a bended knee
And a softly listening ear…

These whispers roared and beckoned so
Compelling and seducing me

That I have left the world behind

The one that weights the spirit down
And found my way

A barefoot boy
To wander in the garden green
And there to grow my very soul.

-P, Sanderson