Fourteen lines, and the word "everyday" appears in every one of them. Scarlett doesn't hide the repetition. She builds the whole poem out of it. Eleven lines in a row open with the word, like footfalls on a path, and the effect matches a daily run: the same start, the same ground, the same beat. The spelling helps too. "Everyday" and later "everytime" are fused into single words, as if the days have blurred into one unbroken stretch.
On the surface, the poem describes a routine: a jog, a meadow, a breeze, a rest, a sunrise. Underneath, it is about the gap between what we receive and what we can give back. The sun lifts the speaker's mood each morning, and she wants to return the favour: "Everyday I wish I could lift the sun." The wish is impossible, and the poem knows it: "Everyday I try and everytime I fail." Yet the last line refuses to treat failure as defeat. "Still I come everyday to do the same." The central idea is that persistence doesn't depend on success. The trying may be its own form of thanks.
The first half of the poem makes nature a companion rather than scenery. "The weeds dance around me" is a modest image. These are weeds, not roses, so the meadow's charm owes nothing to prettiness. Then comes the best piece of wordplay: "the waves wave at me." No sea is mentioned, so judging by the imagery, the waves are probably the grass rippling in the breeze. The noun turns into a verb in the same line, and the speaker answers in kind: "i wave them back." The exchange is friendly and equal. Her next move, "Everyday I dance around for me," echoes the weeds' dancing. She joins the meadow's movement, and the closing "for me" suggests she is performing for no one else.
The poem has no rhyme. Repeated words do the work rhyme usually does: wave and wave, dance and dance, and above all lift, lifts and lifted. That last word is the poem's hinge. Earlier the speaker "sees the sun come up," a neutral description. Then she calls the same event a lifting, as though the sunrise were a heavy job. She has just sat down "exhausted" after her run, so she knows what effort feels like. Her wish to lift the sun reads as a wish to share that effort with the thing that cheers her up. A soft w-sound also runs from "weeds" and "waves" through to "wish," quietly linking the meadow to the longing.
The rhythm is plain and steady. The lines are short, in the present tense, with simple statements. They loosen into something almost bouncy around the dancing, then drop flat at "Everyday I sit down exhausted," where the words are blunt and heavy. The structure of seven couplets pairs ideas neatly: arrival and breeze, the waves and the dance, the sunrise and the mood.
The most interesting moments are the two places where the pattern bends. Line 12, "Like it lifts my mood everyday," is the only one of the first twelve lines that doesn't begin with the key word. It trails on as a simile, and "everyday" falls to the end, where it lands like a weight. The final line opens with "Still" instead. The word means "nevertheless," but it also feels like a pause after so much motion. Both breaks come at the emotional turning points, so the repetition never feels merely mechanical.
There are small rough edges, such as the lowercase "i" in line 6 and the missing verb in "my mood lifted for the new day." Whether deliberate or not, they give the poem the unpolished immediacy of a diary entry, written quickly by someone who has just come in from outside.
The poem matters because it takes the most ordinary material, a habit, and finds a quiet ambition inside it. Many poems about nature end in triumph or insight. Scarlett's ends with a speaker who fails and returns anyway, without bitterness. Her real achievement is not lifting the sun but arriving every morning to try. The poem leaves us asking what "the same" is that she keeps coming back to do, and the answer seems to be hope.