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The horns of time
upon my head
reveal a new fear.
That being said;
to run from here
at a fast pace
and escape this long
fall from grace.

The days were many.
The nights did last
but in reflection
they went by too fast.

What is
this thing,
that a Frost
will bring?
Help us
my Lord,
with a
warm Spring.

The words I see
wrapped around your Star,
describes of thee,
the beauty you are.

An inner beauty,
for all to see,
but at this moment,
are all for me.

Your love, I know,
remains here to see,
is only a distant,
missing memory.

Why, on all these days, I can't forget,
I feel like I was rode hard
and put away wet.

Silvered pearls of morning dew
on budded flowers,
catching the Sun passing through,
in the peaceful garden, ours.

A Pox on thee
oh dreadful one.
May you find
what you forsook.
Why not try
reading a book?

Wherever I wander
wherever I roam,
there is nothing like
my home sweet home.

A symbol I see
away in the dark
of a bird that flutters.
A beautiful Lark.
The Lark with a
full sounding voice,
can make this old man's
mind still rejoice.

When the things we know
become so mundane.
When we peer from the window
at the Winter rain.
The coolness, is there
but there is no freeze.
Perhaps it is now.
Where is the breeze.
The bulbs of flowers, everywhere
are poking through the ground, so bare.
There will soon be a new display
of colors to view on the new day.