Perhaps it's the boy, in this old man,
That plays in dirt when ever he can.
By playing, I mean, out in the yard,
Where a love of gardening, is not hard,
But a desire to see plants to keep growing.
No matter the fact that it soon will be snowing,
I found that I do not like a Fall chore
Of raking leaves, waiting, then raking some more.

Away all boats, that was the call.
Away all boats to the far Atoll.
This wasn't a war but that command,
was in my mind when approaching glistening sand.
Our ship was anchored in a Tropical Lagoon
and Liberty Call would be announced soon.
Liberty for us, on this Tropical Isle,
would be to walk about, for a long while;
to observe and to help where we could
and to make sure that we understood,
that those we met were simple but good.
A brief glimpse, from my aged mind,
of an adventure, that will often remind
the differences, we can now see,
between the Races, more different than we.

What thought are these?
They are not mine,
For the pain I feel
is well entwined.
Go from me, you Spirit dark.
Run away, it's time to part.

The thoughts, now in my brain
are not mine, not the same.
Stay out of my head you must.
Leave me now; turn me to dust.

There is no noise.
There is no dread
About the sounds
Within my head.

A melodious sound
Both near and far.
It calls to me,
"Stay where you are
Don't run away
Stay here and fight;
Take the battle
Into the light."

Brighten the day
With morning Sun,
Tells the World,
Life has begun.