Treasure Island

David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

The Beauty Of This Day


The beauty of this day
Mocks me in its rich array;
The sun shines brightly in the sky,
Clouds ride the wind and stream on high;
The air is fragrant and hints of Spring
The budding trees sway in the wind,
The Winter sun warm on my face
Disolves the snows last lingering trace.
The crocus's peak unabashed
Free of the Winter's icy blast;
The earth renews itself in Spring,
Restoring hope in everything;
Except in me, being old and lame,
Who's fated not to bloom again.

Submitted: Friday, March 07, 2014
Edited: Friday, March 07, 2014

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Topic(s): love

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