But isn’t every day poetry day?
“I had a little pony, his name was Dapple Grey”
“Mistress Mary, quite contrary”
“I had a little nut tree and nothing would it grow….
nothing but rhymes, poems, rhythm in my head,
in my heart as I walk along, stride along.
” And He walks with me, and He talks with me.”
“Rock of ages, cleft for me”
“It was the schooner Hesperous, that sailed the wintry sea”
All of them chanting away, carrying me along, in me, of me.
Poetry Day? Every day, thank God.
Every day for mothers, grandmothers, lovers, fighters,
for those in fear and those in ecstasy.
Look around you and see the angel of poetry.
And there’s the full moon up with a star on her shoulder as Poetry Day comes to a close.