I hear the wind in the Pines
calling my name,
as though they are beckoning me,
to come forth and to answer
for sins of the past.

Sin's of the past are those of my father
and their fathers, before them, now gone.

For each of us must bear
all the anguish of ages
and make our amends
for those who have gone,
years before.

Life was great.
Life was good.
Then I found
It wasn't understood.
For those who know
Life is not a play
Or a movie show
But a path forever
With nowhere to go.

I knew everything would be alright,
for it was love, at first sight.
The curve of her body, long and thin
and I must mention the color of her skin.
The color was dark; black not blue,
I am certain that would move quite a few.
Her voice had a rumble. Nice to hear,
with a sound so pleasant to my ear.
Why does my blood rush this far
when I'm looking at a new car?

Froe and to or to and froe.
My words have no place to go.
Perhaps, in haste, I try to be,
The poet I'm not but want to be.