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To The Day

The light blue blanket blends with pillows white,
the pillows hide the lamp, which burns so bright.
Green is all around us, soft and light.
And, then the picture creeps into the night.

No more can, natural, eyes see beautiful things,
no more can they behold the robin’s wings.
No more can, pleasured, ears hear lovely sing
the songs which make the day. The noises ring.

All, unnatural now, the world surrounds
the man made mundane loves which give no ground
to peace and all the joys which it has found.
The loves that should be up, we’re putting down.

Then, the light comes. All creatures now rejoice,
for, now, all ears that hear can love the voice
of birds who sing of love, for have no choice,
of birds who sing of love, for have no choice.


COPYRIGHT 2000 by Michael Bonanno
LOC Reg. #TXu 934-647

Reproduction of “To
The Day” or any part
therein without the express
written consent of Michael
Bonanno, is prohibited,
except in “fair use” cases

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                                                                                                                               (and some other assorted foolish verses)