The soul ‘s mornings may be

Each morning of the soul’s a promise –

the gentle smile of someone

who cast away his fears and his pride,

your pet’s impatiently wagging its tail

telling you thus it needs some fondling

You sometimes fail to notice

so common an event

When sick at heart you can’t enjoy

the promise that the morning kept

revive the memory of a past day –

all recollections filled with your emotions,

in each you put a tender touch of love

Don’t try to make the fire burn again

out of the dying embers;

forget past sorrows and failures,

let their ash get cold,

this may appease your dole

Forgetting too can be a morning of the soul.