May Morning

The glory
is not gone from Earth,
only from the weary minds
of those who have forgotten
the peace of counting stars.

The rose
still wafts its sweet perfume,
the rainbow’s arc
is still as grand
and the sparrow’s faith

is still
a marvelous thing.
Grief is ever with us,
a companion
when we’d choose solitude

but it’s tempered now
by a new accord,
an inner light
matched only by the sky,
so bright on this May morning.

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