“Every day is a treasure,”
So he told us with a twinkle in his eye,
Raising an instructive finger
Now covered in the calluses of years gone by,
Of his tireless working of the land.
I sat there with my Grandpa
In the quiet of the old church vestry,
Ready to go to prayer with him,
To learn once again from the humble faith
Of this simple, grateful saint.
He is old, and nearer the end,
And I am young, still only beginning,
And his words, wise from all the years
Of weathering the harsh Maine winters,
Ring true in my heart.
Whether we find that truth in the peaceful joys
Of a journey of eighty years
Or in the thrilling rush of adventurous dreams
That stir a younger heart,
We must learn to greet the dawn each day
And in the fire of the ever-rising sun,
To breathe that grateful prayer
And commit to the gift of the time that is ours,
That this day, each day,
Will be the best day we can make of it;
For it is in the journey of every moment
That we return the heavenly gift
In a dance of wondrous praise.