Magazine Posts

When you left, you did it with a smile.
You haven't returned; It's been awhile.
Why you left, I'll never know,
But know this; I love you so.
No matter, if there is Sun or Rain,
I'd do it again, in spite of the pain.

What do you say?
What do you do?
What happens on the day,
Time is up for you?

The life that we had, once before,
That diagnosis of Early Onset Dementia,
Has changed the way we must deal
With emotions of anger and how we feel.

Working in our garden, shovel in hand,
Digging and turning over this plot of land,
When from out from a pile of Oregon Grape,
I glimpsed a movement, my mouth agape.
A baby Possum was waddling towards me.
It moved very slowly, not sure it could see,
Walked around my feet, then said adieu,
While meandering slowly, from my view.
I have not seen another Possum here,
That moved around, with so little fear.

The fear of dying, I understand.
The fear of living, I cannot.
Face your worries, day by day,
For it will come, when it's ready.
Live your life, the best that you can,
As there are others, worse off than you.
Feel blessed for what you have.
Worry not about what to do.
Just keep at it until you're through.

I am always amazed at what I see
The hidden strength, inside of thee.
The joy we have, in this life a kilter,
Is spiced up, as you have not a filter.
You speak your mind, there is no doubt
And you do it softly, not with a shout.

A flower is just a simple word
For a beautiful display of vivid color.
Colors that enrich our live, so short
A time here on Earth. Then it's gone.

It happened so many years ago,
And from the corners of my rusty mind,
A thought appears of a remembrance.
It may be just a small string,
That if I tug, pull or peel
Back the layers of ancient dust,
Will reveal the event and then
The memory will ebb and is gone again.

There is a serenity that comes over me,
When I plant bulbs or plants.
Knowing that they will soon grow tall
And beautify our garden, letting neighbors see,
The colorful display that nature can bring.

It's 5 in the morning
My head is a buzz,
With rambling thoughts,
But more like a fuzz.
I can't get my mind
To go back to sleep,
So I'm writing now,
Thoughts that aren't deep.
What is my problem?
I wish I knew,
Then I'd get more sleep,
Not do like I do.

The garden is now starting to do,
What Nature's way, wants it to.
Most daffodils are now gone,
The flowers brown and yet,
Foliage is full and soaks up the Sun.
Tulips are lovely, this time of year,
But I see petals, start to disappear.
The bluebells I planted, are budding now,
As I await the beauty, that I somehow
Think will be there, when in full bloom.
If the weather would warm
It would be quite soon.

I have discovered and am now aware
Of a pesky Wabbit or perhaps a Hare.
A shade of mixed tans and brown,
He presents a nice sight, quite renown,
By the young children, that see him play,
As he nibbles on my plants, every day.
I suppose that this daily eating habit,
Is very good for the pesky Wabbit.