Jan Dean

At days end I remember

three good things.

Apples maybe—their skinshine smell

and soft froth of juice.

Water maybe—the pond in the park

dark and full of secret fish.

A mountain maybe—that I saw in a film，

or climbed last holiday，

and suddenly today it thundered up

into a playground game.

Or else an owl—I heard an owl today，

and I made bread.

My head is full of all these things，

its hard to choose just three.

I let remembering fill me up with all good things

so that good things will overflow into my sleeping self，

and in the morning

good things will be waiting

when I wake.