When I was a Buddhist monk, my teacher used to say: "Yesterday is a memory, tomorrow is unknown, now is the knowing." And Pooh said it first.

(Image is courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

My Favourite Day

“What day is it?” asked Pooh.
“It’s today”, squeaked Piglet.
“My favourite day,” said Pooh.

Days are where we live,
they fly past so fast and
they cannot stay or last:
the days weeks and years,
leaving us always here,

Where we are today, the
door shut on yesterday and
not yet open on tomorrow;
and here is now with every
second, minute and hour;

In the threefold present –
the memory of what is past –
an expectation of the future –
and the actual now which
passes even as it is thought;

And each dying moment
echoed in the ticking clock,
can remind us that today
is all that we can have, and
shall be – our favourite day.

© D G Moody 2023

Poetry by D G Moody The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2023-08-25 at 17:00

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jim The PoetBay support member heart!
What is the value of a day? Is the day spent with family, or alone, or in a crowd . . . achieving measurable success, facing defeat, doing nothing but (as you said a few days ago in your reply to my comment) eating a bacon sandwich, the best-spent day?

As each day drags, then flies, by, I wonder about this more and more, reaching no definitive conclusion, except—a cold day in the sun, or a hot day in the shade, doing literally nothing but admiring the blue sky, or the clouds, ranks high on my list.

As does a bacon sandwich.