There’s power in the dawn-
radiant energy in those ribbons of red,
and green, and yellow,
and immense strength in the dependable
persistence of the sun-
billions of us plug into the grid each and
every day,
drawing upon the vitality of that infant
there’s so much promise in those early hours,
before mistakes are made,
milk is spilled,
accidents occur,
and before the phones start ringing-
there’s still the promise of great things-
those fresh and eager hours are as malleable
as wet clay-
how then will we shape our day?
will we engage it with the mastery of Rodin,
bold, and courageous and unflinching,
or with the playfulness of a child,
whose goal is not perfection, but whose
work is perfect in their own eyes,
and if not, can easily be started again
from scratch if need be,
or will we approach it with the frustration
of the quitters, never satisfied, never complete-
jaded, and as rigid and unchanging as clay
left out, forgotten, and abandoned-
who we are,
who we will become that day,
is our choice alone-
the day is the clay,
our hands, destiny-
you’ll never know how bad you were sleeping
until you’ve rested well,
and you’ll never know how well you’ve slept,
until you’ve woken up*


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