4-1-19
In the noble purpose of my life, In the clear and quiet chamber Of my soul, In the open and warm cave Of my heart,
The white snow lay gently on the ground in a swirl pattern. The sky, a slab of smooth grey stone.
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
As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.
In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,
Great scientific minds Working for cures Of terminal diseases, The clock ticks... What is the cure
This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,
If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most
Walking down the dirt path, Sounds drift on the air, Birds chirping, leaves Rustling, dogs barking. Interconnection of life
Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are
Grateful for: Sunrise of pink and gold Showing the way, Lighting the sky, To another blessed day.
In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission
When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer
Red sun in the morning rolling up the side of earth. The sky turned pink, as a ball of fire showed it’s strength,
I lay still While my loved one, Sleeps. His warm hand In my hand,