God, keep me so that every dawn
Which I watch walk across the lawn
May bring to me in every way
The thrill this one has been today.
By three small hushed notes from a bird
The lazy growing morn was stirred.
He opened slow one dew-decked lid
And sighed–the poplars said he did–
And yawned and stretched arms wide to take
The dreams of blossoms half awake.
As both his eyes were opened wide,
I tossed my metaphor aside
And watched in ever-fresh surprise
One more new way to light the skies.
Though I am bowed, with whitened hair,
Through circumstances foul or fair
My youth and I shall sit withdrawn
And see another, fairer dallll.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, May 15, 1945
