Days are born at first light.
Dead at last light.
Less they care about memories.
Gather, don't they in anniversaries?
Often many a day is grey and boring.
Certainly, a dark day would be raining.
Without winds of determination.
Strong when winds are, it's a confrontation.
But we know a day is ours particularly.
When mild is the heat, wind is airworthy.
Streams refreshing, and noise calming.
A day is great when it's approving.
Many as the stars, may great days be.
And in their last lights, may dark days flea.
First lights herald births of days.