THREE TIMES OF PRAYER EACH DAY

My poems are more of morning than of night-
And of afternoon least of all.

The first light is hope
And the darkness needs help.
But who knows how to define
The long struggle of the afternoon
In which we live so much of our life?

It is morning again
And who knows what this day will bring?
And what the times of life will require?
But the light of the day is already here
So let us try to begin again.

Shalom Freedman

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