@912sammyy: 3:54pm

oliver :

The morning comes without a trumpet blare, It simply spills across the kitchen floor, And finds the dust motes dancing in the air, To settle softly by your heavy door. You do not have to conquer any peak, Or run a race to prove that you are here; It is quite fine to be a little weak, And let the sun arrive to dry a tear. For even flowers close when skies are gray, And wait in silence for the turning light; They do not rush the passing of the day, Nor curse the quiet heavy of the night. So take a breath and let the shoulders drop— The world will spin even if you should stop.