Night and Day

The morning was a palid hue
a smudge upon the face of God
and I tore up my thoughts again
and sprinkled them upon the dew.
The remedies lined up in rows
small coloured bottles in my mind
by night they gleam and tempt me so
and vanish when the suns orb glows
I'm an apothecary at night
the ills that show in spots by day
grow faint beneath my minds soft hands
and yet regrow in morning light.

But morning has its simple songs
the thoughts of pleasures still to come
and I forget my healers dreams
when birds come in beguiling throngs.
By day I have a poets eye
which smiles upon the orchids fold
and reaches with a careless grasp
the always fleeing dragonfly.
By day and night I am the same
but different parts shift, flow and fall
and I would ever have it thus
so I'll have more thoughts to my name.