The Morning

In the morning, watch the people
Scurrying about.
Everything is possible –
All destinies in doubt.

You haven’t got a clue
How all the hours will unfold.
No one can predict what good
Or bad news you’ll be told.

There’s hope afloat – it’s in the air
And there on people’s faces.
As the day progresses,
Sometimes all that’s left are traces.

The world is cruel and heartless
And our dreams are squashed and stomped.
It’s much more likely that it’s negatives
With which we’re swamped.

Yet as we first begin our day,
We’ve got an empty slate.
Later on we’ll ponder
What’s presented on our plate.

I really love the morning –
Every one is filled with wonder.
Most often, as the hours go by,
That hope is plowed right under.