This is the day –

leaves dance in spring-wind,
                      the flowers
sit and sway and calm the street.
           The still-point-petals line the garden;
brick-walls gleam and fence-posts stand
           attentive to the silent day.

The day hums in rest;
                      the hearers
sit in garden, music in their
           unsure ears, shy before unfolding yawn.
Radiator-bars warm, the slow
           sun as yet contained in veil.

This is the day, the
                      thankful day.
Birdsong twines with road-work buzz;
           dazzled life wanders in dancing patterns.
Inattentive workers, pause:
           rejoice now and be glad.

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