I wonder do days have names anymore
Or are we left to loll in Sundays.
Each twenty four hours rolls sedately into the next
No markers, no appointments, start times, finishing times
Buses, boats, trains or planes, to catch,
No irate fuming in traffic queues
No circling frantically for parking places,
No screaming at kids to get out of bed, eat breakfast
Get in the car.
Just a seemingly endless stream of hours all piled together.
Time to breathe, time to think, time to appreciate.
Our hearts are beginning to pulse to a gentler rhythm,
The fluidity of day followed by night, followed by day.
We rise to the dawn and go to rest
To the setting sun.
For now, we can discard all clocks
And if we are in need of markers, names
To own and pass the time
There is of course
Today
At least for most of us.
For there are those who continue to rise each day, exhausted
And work all hours to care and nurse the sick unflinchingly selfless.
There are those who daily, care for the elderly, the needy, the isolated
There are those who make their way to the factory floors
To prepare food and pack it away into tins and boxes
And there are those who drive the lorries to collect the food
And distribute it far and wide
And there are the dockers who load the ships
And there are crews who voyage to bring the goods to port
And there are those who staff the supermarkets, the pharmacies, the post offices
And there are those who clean the streets and the hospital wards
Every one, every single one heroic
Who rise to the same dawn same as most of us
Yet their days are filled to capacity to bring life, nourishment, love
and solace to others.
I wonder do days have names anymore
For now, we can discard all clocks
And if we are in need of markers, names
To own and pass the time
There is of course
Today and
We need to be thankful and remember
That we are the fortunate ones
Trudie Shannon
