These are the days

These are the days

I choose to remember.

When the wind plants

A friendly kiss

Upon my face.

And turns each page

With a kindly shrug,

That brushes at

The dust of yesterday.

Rolling away the

Layers of dirt,

That tends to mar the way.

And in this gentle peeling,

A temperate,

Mild revealing,

Adds polish to the mirror,

That reflects,

With imperfect surface,

All that has been seen

Through my eyes.

A singular perception.

A clear and better way

To carry on

Our very own deception,

Into tomorrow.

A rule so many follow,

That says,

The ones we so remember,

Really were the days.

Before the grass

Grew much too long,

Beneath our feet.

And the speed

Of change became

A little quick

To beat.

And if not for bad luck

our life would be

Full of wine and roses.

No more rejections,

From the privileged classes,

Pretty young things,

With turned up noses.

But you are a fool

To believe what you see,

When it is but

A reflection of you and me.

And the truth is,

Where you are,

Is always

Where you should be.

So breathe in.

Exhale.

Take the world by the tale,

And remember,

That in all the ways

That matter

These really are…the days.