Warren Wren

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A Typically Ordinary Day

Today, my friend, is like any other day.
Today is ordinary in every way.
There’s nothing special in store for me
on this typically, usual day.

'How sad you must be,' you say,
'for a life that whiles away
and holds no thrill to merry
your path along the way.'

Friend, did I not mention that I am king?
Did I not say my heart sings
with each new golden dawn
the rising sun brings?

Have you not met my Heavenly Love
God granted to me thereof?
'Yes, I have a wife too,' you say,
'but atimes, our wives we tire of.'

'My wife and I, we still share a spark,
we dance or chat or walk in the park.
These are the magic moments
we husbands treasure and mark.'

Friend, does your ordinary day
lack Joy, Peace, or a golden ray?
Does your boat sway at ebbtide
for want of sheltering quay?

Does happiness in your world
flutter—then still—like flag unfurled
caught by zephyr, listless, then
by gale, harrowingly hurled?

'How sad,' you said, of my typical day
—ordinary in every way—
when heart does sing, body is light
Joy abounds to burdens allay.

My wife gives love each day.
My wife gives self each day.
She stills the ebb by giving full;
my tide runs high, no rocking, no sway.

'A spark,' my friend? Hear me well;
you’ve escaped from your wife’s spell.
Hurry home, rekindle that flame
and under her magic happily dwell.

Then you, as I, may rejoice each day
when you tell your friends of your typical day
and know in your heart you are king when they
reply, “How sad. Are your days always gray? '

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