In the darkness of early morning light
I see a scattering of brilliant dewdrops
outside my window on the green leaves
of my hollyhock wavering in the breeze.
They all greet me with a collective smile
reminding me how often there is a bit of
sunlight in every corner of darkness, like
the giant daylily I once saw growing along
the border of my father’s big mausoleum.
When I was young, I viewed the nocturnal
glow of his Lucky Strikes as the only points
of light in his gloomy bedroom as he worried
about his next day Wall Street trades.
Mother never stopped singing to him:
Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think,
enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink,
enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think.