Who’s to Say?
You’d think the sunshine would decide
The backs on which its rays reside,
But tiny leaf and tree-branch wide
Hide light to show a valleyed shade.
The shade creates a risen glade,
Pockets green and golden made,
A place I would have longer stayed
If not for the changing light.
The sunrise that is ending night,
Erases a full moon once bright
And complements the starry sight
By bringing forth a new-lit day.
But who am I to say,
Or anyone to say,
How our day should look today,
Or any other for the matter.
