by Derek Mahon, Irish Poet

How should I not be glad to contemplate the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?

There will be dying, there will be dying, but there is no need to go into that.

The poems flow from the hand 🖖🏻 unbidden and the hidden source is the watchful heart ❤️.

The sun rises in spite of everything and the far cities are beautiful and bright.

I lie here in a riot of sunlight watching the day break 🌅 and the clouds ☁️ flying.

Everything is going to be all right.