A Found Poem by Beverly Stock
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There's not a day in all the year
But holds some hidden pleasure,
And looking back, joys oft appear
To brim the past's wide measure.
But blessings are like friends, I hold,
Who love and labor near us.
We ought to raise our notes of praise
While living hearts can hear us.
We ought to make the moments note
The hours and days a silent phrase
Of music, we are living.
And so the theme should swell and grow
As weeks and months pass o'er us,
And rise sublime at this good time,
A grand “All Holiday” chorus.
I created this “Found” poem by editing one by Ella Wheeler Wilcox Thanksgiving into two stanzas that reflect my feelings for holidays. The Public Domain Poetry-Main Index lists three separate poems of the same name by Wilcox.