The day is aging, broken-down, decaying:
The valor’s not in winning, but in staying.
As feelings bubble up, and come, erupting —
A voice is raised, a sinning, but not staying –
Does breath come fast or slow? Is grief corrupting?
Dismaying though each inning be in staying —
For every type of harvest, there’s a reaping;
And so the new beginning, found in staying.
The sky that patient waits, for Owen’s keeping:
The stars tonight are spinning – love