Such days as these would we ever dream,
not a score of wagers so strange has time imagined,
so wrought with grief at such a sordid scheme.
Here we'll dream of spring and nature's colorful games,
where flower and leaf are delicately fashioned,
where the years forget not their names.
To gaze upon rainy days cool and grey,
makes solitude's reinvention in days now stronger.
The solemn haze of night is soon hidden away,
and fades, replaced by dreams, if sleep were so pleasant,
And tomorrow perhaps should find me younger,
and to my pressing needs more present.
Under the waning stars we'll soon wake,
to lives as different and more familiar than before.
Each new day's work discovers more at stake,
and takes hold of a world lately become like a stranger.
The sun will set gold on days of work and more,
mark the time since the passing danger.
Brian Francis Hudon
April 13, 2020
