Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are

Just a small part of me wants strife to go away, to return to a kinder time. Am I just losing courage? Life is draining me,

Silver sliver of the moon With the bright star of Venus Trailing behind. Moonbeams casting light On the waves,

Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

First snow of the season Came down light and gay, With it’s bright white, Reflecting, Off slow moving clouds

As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.

In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission

Come with me To the mountain top, Where the crest touches The sky And the air so pure,

The flesh withers as we age But our inner spirit Remains the same. And when the body dies The spirit breaks free

When you are not here An empty heart full of fear Arises and wonders If I will see you again. What will I do without

An owl hoots on this cool, crisp Spring night. A sound that’s distant yet echos

Birds flying here and there, landing on branches to chirp and bare, their heart. A private club among the trees with their own private code.

On the brink of leaving, To go beyond These borders And say good-bye, To all you know,

If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most