Sweet and Low
• 07/28/23 at 09:54PM •Sweet and low,
off and running,
sometimes it's better,
than being cunning.
Sweet and low,
off and running,
sometimes it's better,
than being cunning.
When I was fifteen years of age,
I rode a horse on a cattle drive.
Moving the cattle, down the country
roads, through Sagebrush and other plants.
After one day of riding, my rear end was
sore, and we kept on "driving the cattle,
toward our goal, which was a ranch,
east of Ellensburg.
My legs were sore after being in the
saddle. I didn't know what I was doing
but quarter horse knew every move the
cattle would make, cut them, off so
we could continue our drive.
Great memories of that time.
Dearest Elle,
sweet Ellie true.
I wish it were me,
not unlucky youl
Of all the love
which exist in this Word,
you are the one and
will be my only girl.
I should have left my writing alone,
as my eyes are brimmed with tears,
recalling the memories from home.
I recall Happy moments.
Return to me, my love,
return to me.
Listen to my request,
please hear my plea.
When love stopped by,
it was only by chance,
as she was only passing,
on the way to a dance.
How can love enter now,
when the sadness here,
presents itself every day.
I have no interest, just a tear.
Should I write,
something profound,
or should I, dress up,
as a Carnival Clown?
Sweet Lord of mystery,
science and math,
please guide this soul,
down life's dangerous path.
You are the one,
who hides in the cloud,
speak to me Lord.
Please tell me aloud.
No more the risk,
no more the word or tome.
Please take me Lord.
Please take me home.
When words fail to come,
forth from my head,
I begin thinking,
I must be brain dead.
A state of depression,
maybe a reason too,
so, I must change,
If I'm staying with you.
Out of the gate,
quick was he,
as he breezed by
so merrily.
Many the laughs,
came so easy,
as humor was great,
with high anxiety.
Dry was the mind
of ideas, fresh,
stale thoughts
of being depressed.
Once the time,
for creative thought,
only way now,
seems to be bought.
Enrich your mind,
It's a knowledge vault.
If you choose not,
It's your own fault.
She was sitting, cross-legged,
her ankles were bent.
Hadn't seen someone sitting
like that, since a carnival tent.
Short were his wanders,
small was the town.
He covered mile after mile,
until the final sundown.
He walked and walked,
never slowing down,
then he discovered he was
on the other side of town.