A benefit from daily poetry
(less valuable than practice, but still nice)
is how the pieces serve as diary
(to feel and then record’s like living twice).
At times when I reread, the words entice
my memory – provocative technique.
Well here’s a little record of last week.

Six days ago the sky was middle-blue.
The atmosphere was clear without a cloud.
I chose to cherish all within my view;
I mourn for missing rainfall, but I vowed
to just appreciate. My grief’s unbowed
for what we’ve done to water, land, and air,
but Wednesday I loosed loving everywhere.

Ten days ago Mom fell two times or three
(the woman’s in her tenth decade alive).
They stitched her up and checked her out, to see
the damage falling does to 95,
and found Coronavirus. We derive
some hope from dire test results. Before,
her symptoms made approaching death look sure.

The night before composing this, as well,
I got a second offer on the place
I bought and built and tried but couldn’t sell
some years ago, when there was not a trace
of interest (stressful memories embrace
me, but I steel myself to sell a deed).
It’s looking like transactions will proceed.

(Rhyme Royal)