A Lovely Day

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A Lovely Day

He stood at the bus stop

 

Black coat soaking wet,

 

The rain was pouring down,

 

Was his face one of regret?

 

No, he was quite happy

 

So glad he took a walk

 

As, while all others looked glum

 

And had no cheerful talk

 

His outlook was much brighter

 

Even though he had been told

 

That cancer had taken root,

 

In his body it got a hold.

 

That rainfall, like pools of tears

 

Reflected their sad faces

 

Yet, to him it was a lovely day

 

Where no hint of mournful traces

 

Could be seen inside his eyes,

 

A young man composed, serene,

 

Standing with head raised high

 

For this lovely day he was keen.

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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windowguy’s Poems (9)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Duvet Day 1
A Year in Haiku 1
Love Notes 1
Footprints in Time 1
A Lovely Day 0
Kiss Away the Tears 0
A Kind of Snowball 0
Her Smile Makes Me Smile 1
A Single Snowflake 0

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