There Is The Joy Poem by Peter S. Quinn

There is the joy of strangeness,
The gliding clouds drifting;
Within every ebbing freshness,
That the mist is lifting.
Each hope is born again,
With pleasures fresh and new;
Returning into vain,
Sadness of the few.

The glory and the shine,
When the sky is blue;
The depth of a horizon line,
And dreams that are true.
Let it all there go,
Into another fantasy;
And before you know,
You float like a cloud free.

There is the joy in future song,
With the breeze playing;
And it goes along,
Like the straws are swaying.
New hope is in your heart,
Footsteps in the sand;
Somewhere you will start,
And come to understand.