The Tapestry of Hours


Mornings are best spent
     In eager, open play.
Voices are for singing out
     The start of day.

Memories reach back
     To yesterday's parade,
Stopping at the point
     Where boundaries are made.

Like a child who knows
     What a somersault is worth,
Everyone is equal
     At the time of birth.

Trees and wind, dogs and rain,
     Cats and purple flowers—
All are gleaming in
     The tapestry of hours.


©2016 Michael Fraley




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