When tomorrow comes
yet it seems a chore,
Count the many hurdles
that have become a bore.
Wring them for all they’re worth,
gauge out their core.
Serve them to the dogs,
make an event of it draped in hope galore.
Then count what’s left
and let the surviving bees sing to it…encore.
You just discovered life’s essence,
the dance between each chore.
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