Another ordinary day was done
and sleep was welcome, came both fast and sure,
and left abruptly with the rising sun,
bequeathed recalled familiars insecure.

The sights and sounds and smells unchanged have changed
yet dare one risk the treks untakeable
and find the times and places disarranged
for careless disconnects will make a null.

A stream of special days must fill the heart.
Attention must be paid to details small.
When old must stop, some goodly new must start.
When aged is slowed, the young will have their scrawl.

Remembered blooms must fade, still bushes grow
in their ways, not ways we in dreaming know.

- Robert Stone, 8 May 2011