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.