There Are . . .

There are days
that songs are stifled
or the throat hoarse and weary
No more do notes glide softly -
raking leaves strewn across
the littered lawn
their butterfly wings
hung up in the wait
for another sunny day.

There are nights
that stars squander
their luminescence
on unappreciative lovers
roaming listlessly by
a moonlit shore
their brilliant points
curl up in the hope
of another cloudless night.

There are mornings
that sizzle on the stove
that sparkle sweet tangy-ness
hands clasping across the table
reliving life's love-filled moments
the warmth of the kitchen
reflects fervent esteem
done up in various colours
for each new morning.