Another day tomorrow.

Another day tomorrow.

Tell me something of beauty

The mystery of it

Is eluding me

Does its power lie in secrecy

Does it need to be seen

To be appreciated

Without witness to the blooming

Is a rose by any other name

Merely a means to propagate

Are the bees attracted

To the flower

As a right of passage

Its appearance no more

Than that of a beacon

For carriers to home-in upon

Is it transcendent

Is the butterup crushed beneath

A wayward boot

Any less than

The wings of a Ulysses Butterfly caught in

The sweep of a windscreen wiper

Buffeted by the wind

Fluttering at the edge of sight

Like a sparkle

Of sunlight on a boundless sea

Rolling ever deeper

Into the distance

Coming closer to the edge

Where Golden Eagles fly

The look in the eyes of a lover

The tears of mourning

The remembrance of something

Wonderful

As free spirits lift and soar

Tell me

Do we see its essence

Look upon the beautiful

Just one more time

Before we go.