Rather that someone tried to do it
It is in the trying
Where the real beauty is hidden
The photograph of moss
On the old outdoor doormat
The recollection of the dream
In the cool light of morning
It matters more that time is taken
Rather than to let it slip idly by
It is in the action of contemplation
Where the silence might bathe us
The fading daffodils
On the half-finished shelves
The clock that no longer turns
Over the shining Roman numerals
It matters the same for today
Rather like it will tomorrow
That the bright spring day
Brings warmth to the shoulder
That the busy market town
Is open, to and for all seasons
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