On the soft pillow, I lay my head,
Must I rise? Just another day ahead,
In December when winds howl and blow,
As winter frost grasps all living things,
Yet, on the deck a red bird sings,
Its feathers fluffed with flakes of snow.

Throw back the blanket, stretch my toes,
There is more to this day, heaven knows;
I was chosen from minute to hour
To live, not in feeble motions, or waste
This wonder of a day fully laced,
With challenge, gifts, and hope its tower.

I will rise, rejoice, be glad this day,
Its value priceless, and there it lay,
For me to have, be still, and let slip by?
No. For what have I got but one
Glorious day to follow the sun,
And I will see how rich am I.