A New Day

They’re all new, aren’t they?

If not, they’re just another day,

which is sad. 

It all depends on the way it

looks at you.

I used to do work when I was

a plumber.

Now, all I can do is write, which

I don’t consider work;

I consider it joyful activity.

I may not be that good at it because

I don’t work at it.

All that happens is some words come

and I’m usually pleasantly surprised.

It’s sacred activity because the words

come from the universe through my mind.

I don’t vouch for the quality because 

I can’t guarantee the product

which is only as good as the receiver,

which is somewhat questionable.

This is all I can be.

I knew when to stop trying.

I stopped trying because I realized

I was already there, and relaxed.

Now, I don’t do much, I just be.

Trying to explain it seems useless.

But, the little children love my 

rainbow socks. 

What more can I give the world?