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.