The rising of the day
Each day rises to itself, the same,
Yet different than the one that rose before
And passed, now set in stone for evermore.
The day that rises is the gift of God
For us to use in any way we would.
God grant we only use it for the good.
The beauty of the day we can behold:
The birds, the flowers, the heat, and cold,
Create a glorious story to be told.
We rise and work and play and rest, then sleep,
As night bedecked by stars curtains the deep
Of space. May God our sleeping spirits keep.
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Peter J Ainscough
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