Gratitude Poem of the Day: “GRATEFULNESS”


Each day the engine of my gratefulness

must be coaxed and primed into action.

Of course like any old clunker,

it would just as soon stay put.

For even after the labored start beats the inertia,

and the plume of white smoke struggles upward,

the same hills always appear,

soaring daily – tall and ominous as before.

There is the long slow hill of “aging”

so gradual and smooth at first.

And then that steep grade called “the news.”

Yes, and always some mountain of a war

looming out there, never too far in the distance.

Even an old idea or a feeling long abandoned

might conspire to halt this fragile progress –

valves sputtering, tires flattening, clutch slipping.

But the old “potato, potato, potato” sound

of the engine, and all its mysterious fuel,

for which I am truly grateful


keeps stumbling along.

— Dale Biron


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