Some days know
the secret leaning of the heart

their auricles are acres of clay
watered by the kindest dew

their music the beat of every pulse
smiles grow in the garden of their lips

there is grace in their greeting
bliss in their blessing

a merciful moon sits
in the center of their night

their hours ripen
in the shadows of a generous sun

when they pass
houses throw open their doors

flowers drape them
in their rarest fragrance

for them tenderness is no treason
compassion is no constraint

some days
are not allergic to softness

some days
are not afraid of being human