Inn of a New Day
A green bough hangs over the door ajar,
symbol of life, though freshly cut from it.
Enter here silent, walker from afar,
brave at the dawn, en route to the summit.
Ahead is What Is and the table set,
What’s Not lies forgot, halfway down the slope.
What Will’s still asleep, upstairs in his bed,
What Might Be has yet to be seen. I hope
you’ll eat well and work quiet with What Can,
“life’s too short” is a refrain best unsung.
Do try not to wake the ugly What Can’t,
life’s long enough for what needs to be done.
At sunset, plant a tree for tomorrow.
There’s time to celebrate; none for sorrow.
- Ralph Murre
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