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I stopped to see you, it was yesterday.
Someone told me, you had moved away.
That surprised me so, to hear them say,
As you didn't leave me, a place to stay.

These words that ring, within my head,
Are sometime only, filled with dread
Of not knowing what spews on to paper.
They may be solid or perhaps vapor,
So I write them down, and yet,
I will get, what I will get.

He sits there, with all the dread,
Wandering around, his cluttered head,
He would do best, to move again,
Far away from, these thoughts of pain.
I can no longer, speak for him,
For the thoughts he has, are grim.

That look of love, from your eyes,
As you hear, the newborns cries,
Creates that special bond, for another
And is the name for you, Mother.
Congratulations on this day of joy,
You have a girl for you to enjoy.

The crispy mornings, with dew on grass,
With a soft fog, draping the trees,
To walk the paths, by ponds of glass,
Is enough reverence, for you to seize,
That golf club, with which you play,
As the Sunrise, brightens up the day.

This time of year, is the best
For it is the time, of Oktoberfest.
It is the perfect, time of year,
To have a drink, of German bier.
Bier or beer has, a taste so great,
That simply drinking it, just can't wait.
To all my friends, far and near,
It's the time to, have a bier.

Remember you not, the day before,
For it is gone and is no more
Than a memory, of our past,
Here today but will not last.
So I say to you, my friend,
The money you have, do not lend.
For this life is short, that's for certain
And soon there will be, a final curtain,
For that curtain, brings abject sorrow,
For those who will, never see tomorrow.

I will love you, again tomorrow
And not think, about the sorrow,
That life has, brought to you.
We will do what we need to do.

I hear the noise, of distant thunder.
It is the sound, of Nature's wonder.
If we're lucky, it comes at night
And provides a show, of Nature's might.
Heat lightning, will light up the sky,
While the bolts of lightning, do try,
To advance towards us and come near,
And with its approach, produce the fear,
That the Norse God, Thor, begins to leaven,
It is a message, straight from heaven.

When the grand Firs, shake and tremble,
From the blowing wind and they resemble,
Tall dark shapes, of trees, that assemble,
To make the noise, we fear at night
And make our sleep, full of fright.
Why must the wind, on this day,
Try so hard, to blow us away?

There was a time, in this earthly hell,
When I would swear, my neck would swell.
I now know, it was a primate urge,
That caused my blood, to boil and surge.
The time was close, to the hunting season,
Other than that, there was no reason.
Those days, long gone, finally did disappear,
And no longer appear, in my mirror.
I know what I did, years before,
But I do not hunt game, anymore.

Dear God, please help this wretched man,
That knows, not of what I am.