What is it—
This new manna—
This joy that comes
Fresh with the morning
Except on the very darkest of days—
Which I cannot explain—
And gives me a nudge
To start all over again—
Even when I had run out
The night before
And had little hope
But for the morning?
I do hope I get to meet him someday—
The one who visits me in the night
And grants me the will to go on—
And to ask him why
He does not always come.
But even so
I do still like him very much
And I suppose he must be a spirit
Of some great purpose
And that there’s a twinkle in his eye.
And I really hope
That he will think
His work on my behalf
He been worth the effort.
