The
cool of the morning before the heat
Of
the day is more a sanctuary
Than
the deepest kind of hermit's retreat.
Remove
your shoes, you voluptuary,
And
feel the cool of the polished brick floor,
Sit still
beneath the low, slow-turning fan,
Relax,
listen to Louis Armstrong roar,
A
song of the self-made man, the whole man:
I see trees of green, red roses… you know
The
rest. A man might riot, rage and roam,
Chasing
fame and fortune, becoming beau
To a
queen. Another man stayed at home,
Listening
to the leaves as the breeze swirled:
I think to myself, what a wonderful world!
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