Dia Duit

A great star

falls,

swimming,

through the black pool that is the night sky.

A white-hot bolt of lightening

flashes,

phantasmic,

through the stormy sky.

A snow flake

floats,

drifting,

through the frigid noon sky.

A bluebird

chirps,

whimsically,

into the early morning sunrise.

And surely,

with such beauty and wonder,

one would think it precious.

But how precious can true beauty be

that is so easily thrown away?

What measure can be put on what was lost?


AN: The title is pronounced 'dee-a git.' It roughly means 'good day' in irish gaelic.