by Jay O'Toole
We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life.
Are the days gone by, now really in the past?
Is there no benefit
from thoughts of childhood, that still last
to help the senior medalist?
The days of joy, and playing in the yard,
until the sun went down,
creates the ancient and the bard,
whose words would change a frown.
The holiday's "eternity"
brought joy to ev'ry heart.
All wrapped in coats their "play" to free.
Its laughter always starts.
The days of mirth need be reborn.
Let's hold that child upon the knee
to stroke the pate of Self once torn,
to comfort smallish me.
We can't return to the days of yore
in childlike body gone,
but rest with him (or her) some more
makes daily trials won.
by Jay O’Toole
on February 1st, 2023