By: Joseph P. Attanasio
Some think a day is a measure of time.
Some think a poem is a measure of rhyme.
But each day is a life, complete with birth and death.
Not sharing with others, but standing alone from the rest.
As dawn is born we have a new beginning, a chance.
For goals of sort and for romance.
Some days are very long, some very short.
Some are hard, some are restful, all sorts.
Sometimes in the morn, we are already dreary.
As a day draws to an end, we may hold it dearly.
But one thing is for sure, each day will hold.
Much much more for those who are bold.
The days in the past are written in stone.
The ones not yet here stand empty and alone.
Remember as each day begins to unfold.
We have a say, how the story is told.
If you have ever tried to plan a day from dawn to night.
You know how they never come out exactly right.
You can enjoy a day fully without any plans.
Just let it happen and see how it lands.
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