Is it doubt, anger or whiz reflection

That we starve a new day?

The moon is foggy and the sun aflame the dandelions;

The bees and humming birds are enriching.

And we, what have we – confuting its adit.

We fret, break glasses, chant rancid notes.

But let’s savvy that it’s a fresh day

And we can’t defray the spilled water

Nor can we mow the reality.

Every day is colorful, even Mondays.

The baton has been touted

Let’s swallow its embers, take the new day

For our doubt, anger and reflections can’t fit the sun.

 

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