Monday, July 7, 2014

This day

This day though ended I shall never fling
Into the basket of untreasured time,
Nor carelessly put by on some dark shelf
To lie unnoticed in the gray of grime.
This I shall save against a bitter need,
Safe-bottled in the cupboard of my heart
Upon the shelf of dear rememberings,
Labelled but briefly: "This balm set apart
 For discontent." Some day I shall be tired
 Of going and of coming. I shall need
A remedy to calm my spirit's core,
And nourishment on which its want may feed.
 Then will this quiet peace flow through my veins.
 The dark, wild waves of restless hours will fall
In final thunder on their barren beach.
There will be sun, still water, and the call
Of one shy bird, and you within my reach.


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