Each morning of the soul’s a promise –
the gentle smile of someone
who cast away his fears and his pride,
your pet’s impatiently wagging its tail
telling you thus it needs some fondling
You sometimes fail to notice
so common an event
When sick at heart you can’t enjoy
the promise that the morning kept
revive the memory of a past day –
all recollections filled with your emotions,
in each you put a tender touch of love

Don’t try to make the fire burn again
out of the dying embers;
forget past sorrows and failures,
let their ash get cold,
this may appease your dole
Forgetting too can be a morning of the soul.