Today, as always and as often before
Dreading the light that falls on my face
The fingers that fumble and won’t find
Yesterday, today and tonight.
Worse than the morrow
Is the memory of sorrow
To know at the end of each day
That emotion has flown away.
O desultory rhyme. Time after time
I tried, the paradox of living and forgiving
I can try each day. Each morning the sun
Will rise, will slide, will set
Morning and mourning. The surprise
The yearning, the knowing
Today, as always at sunrise.
