Different Days

Here in the silent morning

the angel’s trumpets don’t ring.

None announce the arrival

of a change in the winds.

A change in the season.

Days,

blend until they’re all the same

and yesterday is already tomorrow.

Waking in this world is such a chore,

for the angels don’t proclaim the morning.

Only the birds know

the season’s changing.

Here in the morning light,

I pray for different days.

Here I pray for patience,

for the angel’s horns I wait.

 

HG – 1995-2000

 

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