Now hold within and don’t release
uplifting sights of priceless gold,
full glory to the rising day.
Behold the harvest gathered in
that Turner with his brush conveyed
displays of richest opulence.
My mind is brimful, filled with brights
of lucent, lustrous, blazing sky,
a palette of my own delights.
And dappled, dancing glints at sea
all misery be done, be gone
you can’t compete with morning sun.
You can’t compete with nature’s gifts
a therapy for those whose eyes
are dimmed by doldrums of the dark.
A spark for some is all it takes,
a blinding flash for them to see
a lighted match can offer hope.