“There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” ~ Albert Einstein

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Recorded Reading (3:39): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/ckfp2yraw5m6lmoe31htz/Song-of-the-Ordinary.mp3?rlkey=yhcx1mxs0kuxmjhbb6ysxbj4r&dl=0

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Song of the Ordinary

Often we write in dire discomfort’s throes,
Despairing any resolution of
The day’s disasters ~ or, again, midst those
Nights sleepless spent of unrequited love

Less often, but more precious, writers will,
Though self may be replete, take up the pen
The woes of others, others to, repeat
That these embrace humility again

Then, poets have been known to celebrate
Moments, perhaps more frequent known to come
To such, whose hearts may be described as great
Celestial realms dispensation from

Than to the av’rage, who may only know
Once or twice such, a span of life within:
With ecstacy the heart expanded grow
Find unexpected tears the eyes within

From access of sheer heavenly delight
In all upon them heaven bestowed has
Rosily glowing in a dawning light,
Or silhouetted then in sunset, as

Enraptured by a dimple or a smile
The gracious glance of an admiring eye —
Phenomena which last us but a while
Delighting now, but swiftly passing by…

So of the ordinary let me sing:
Forsooth, the flowers grow forever up!
O let me notice each unnoticed thing
With which heaven hath filled this living cup!

Have you remarked that it hath never failed
The sun ariseth every single morn?
The vast number of miracles entailed
Is too enormous to be calmly bourne!

For every single cell your body in
A tiny replica created be
From any one of which may then begin
A larger copy, theoretic’lly

— In every single cell! How many are
For every form of life on Earth we see?
We need not e’en extend ourselves so far:
This tiny little seed becomes a tree!

Rubber balls bounce, ceramic figures, not,
The aging folk sit soaking up the sun,
And pretty dresses by young wives are bought
In hope of pleasing the beloved one

And let us not forget the sighs of love
— Every couple the first since time began! —
Or the effect a baby’s dimple of
Upon even the most adamant man…

In every moment, such abundance be
Of wondrous things at which to marvel, I
Can but grievously inadequately
One in a million million million try

Even to mention, much less to describe;
So many opportunities for she
Whom for one single function — lyric scribe —
Finds herself at all qualified to be

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This poet presently lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.

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