Perfect Day (revisited)

And then the perfect days
Find ways to make themselves known.
Or at least the perfect days
Have ways to make it shown

That perfect days don't always happen
Every twenty four hours
Or only in April, with the rain storms snappin'
Down before the spring of Maia's flowers.

Bona Dies, they say, used to describe such a time
When everything as it seems
It going just fine
And in the end, true is made of dreams.

And a perfect day is spent with you
Beside me, each hour is spent
That when we're together, just us two,
I wonder where the good day went.