Celebration

every day
the sun rises
and rests his head
upon the dark shoulders
of another day
well-lived;
and every day
there's a heart
somewhere,
that melts and flows
and freezes,
dancing to the tune
of the radiant sun
and the quiet breeze
who gathers scents
from all seasons gone;
every day
there is a celebration
here on this blessed earth,
no trumpeting, no clapping,
no music, no fireworks,
just a warm welcoming
without fanfare
of yet another
blessed night
and morn.