Each Day Poem by Frank Avon

Each day is each day,
a blessing it its own way:
every flower that blooms,
every seedling,
every tree that grows,
each morning, each evening.

One day at a time,
mostly rest and sleep.

The color of that iris
is incredible,
delicate, elegant,
almost ecru.

The honeysuckle vine
is profuse,
full of fine buds
promising honey blooms.

The Japanese maple,
its leaves crimson/wine,
its spread shapely,
its loveliness divine.

The spikes of gladioli
piercing the sod,
green and brownish
and sharp as spearpoints.

Nature
from my window
nourishes my vision
vivifies my heart:

it's elegant,
it's profuse,
it's shapely,
it's sharp.

Yes, this old heart,
weird and obstinate,
refusing to heal
beats on, loves well.

Each day is each day,
a blessing in its way,
every morning, every evening,
vision, and sleep.