there is no poetry today,
i said.
but today is the poem.
the laughter, the conversations,
the sharing of beauty,
the seconds that turn into moments
that turn into life
that turn into memories.
isn’t time the poetry of life?
isn't the feeling of not having enough words
to tell of the wonder of this day
worth more than a poem?
the seeking and the finding,
the making and the living:
this is the poetry hiding below our feet,
the music we long to sing.