A day can seem the shadow of a day
when nothing new occurs, and all that stays
in thought is what came from the day before
the pleasure of achievement, or the sore
reprise of hard exertion. As today -
which never rose beyond the cold and gray
and didn’t have a glory of its own.
till now, when with the penning of this poem
I hope to raise at least a little indication
that something worth its time here has arisen
that, though a very modest, small creation
one thing at least has exercised my vision
not some great burst of strength to rocket me aloft
just one small crust to feed my need to work my craft.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 14, 2011
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