Vanity Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Not every day is true
With hope in morning
Embracing all the new
That to awake is turning
Not falling to hollow
With windows of time be
Shaping me to follow
For what becomes free

So much is at its task
Going the same way
And nothing there to ask
In its truth and play
In each current that run
Like bereft of blossom
Embraced in gloom sun
Where its days are from

Not every day is blush
Of burning bright and clear
Some rain might in rush
And fall by footsteps near
For much is vanity
That men and women do
In its times brevity
For both of me and you