Whatever the day ahead may hold,
There is such treasure in these quiet moments—
Before the world has awakened—
In which I may sit and reflect
On whatever needs reflecting,
And to search out whatever
Needs searching.
And yet the day encroaches,
Oblivious to my reverie.
And the sweetness wanes,
And reflection surrenders to
The practical necessities of the day,
Which must needs be,
As they used to say.
And I move on begrudgingly,
My heart ever set on
Tomorrow morning—
Even the sleep between—
Treasure it may be
In its own right—
Often seeming little more
In comparison than
A necessary bother.
