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I'm writing now, in a small book.
Perhaps I need to have a look
at a larger version, within to write.
Sound logical or am I being trite?

A small wayward waif,
passed me by,
on his way to play,
once more,
in a Park, with others,
like it was before.
A long time will go by
prior to this virus end
where he will once again
play with a friend.

He does not fight to set you free.
He fights to protect his hypocrisy.
Perhaps he is, "not right in the head"
and should be locked up instead.
The death toll from this virus
continues it's rise,
when the trust of this Nation,
decimated by his lies,
continues to erode
until it's demise.
God help all in this land,
vote out this wretch of a man.

Shouldn't the word Crow
be pronounce like now,
or even like the word how?
Why is it pronounced like know
or like a bow
that is worn in your hair,
or in respect you would bow.
The usage of words like tow
instead of words like wow.

This writing is just for you,
no one else, to read and say
the words I write on this screen,
makes my mind wake up
to all those things, you do.
If you write a comment
about a line or if this
writing strikes a chord
or rings a bell about an experience
that you recall, then I will succeed
in this writing that you read;
being more about you
and very little about me.

Many thoughts, all meshed
into one,
when will this "Lock up"
ever be done?
It might be for the
older ones,
to remain sequestered until
the virus is done.

We march together,
but die alone,
from life's beginning
until it is done.

I am reminded of a petulant child,
who's ideas are crazy and wild.
You open your mouth wide
and the lies spew out.
What in this World
are you all about?

Wisdom can become you, as we age.
Your life experience will make you a Sage.
The years go by so quickly,
turn the page.

I sit here alone;
She's next to me.
Alone in my thoughts
of our life's reverie.

She speaks of the
past life of memory,
not of facts but,
"Do you remember?"

The questions she asks,
my mind cannot see,
without more facts;
who or where it might be.

Giving a place or name,
I say back to She;

I don't know comes back to me.
Answers like this or less,
end in each of our own misery.

He rose from the dead
to take care of you,
so on this good day,
that's what he will do.
Stay safe together,
in your abode.
Confess your sins,
as if he strode,
down your lane,
so long of a time,
he could come again
to take care of all,
no matter the twain.

Your shoulders gleam
with morning dew.
What may I ask,
did you do?
Stay out all night,
under the tree?
Were you out there
waiting for me?