The dirt, between
my fingers and toes.
Mud was my thing,
when as a child,
I would run
playing, wild,
like a weed,
growing in your yard.
Cut it down or
let it grow.
How it develops,
you may never know.

Do you not
know me?
Can you call,
me by name?

Someday, in the morning,
when the sky is still grey,
Death will come calling,
taking someone away.

Life is quite short, in this scene,
it isn't forever, we can live here,
for when the road ends,
all memories, will disappear.

If life was fair,
then it's not.
Would you care,
about another's lot?

When love has,
lost its bloom,
will you still be
waiting in another room?

Waking from a deep sleep,
clearing cobwebs, from my head,
is what one becomes,
when sleeping like the dead.

I'm lost,
alone,
forgot
your
name.
When,
we meet
again,
will it
be the
same?

A sun, rising slowly,
from the East,
peeking through tree limbs,
as sunrays penetrate,
the cool, shadowed,
corners of the courtyard.
A plum tree, in bloom,
brings color to a landscape,
of bare branches, budded,
but sans, leafs, an early Spring.

A simple verse,
a simple mind.
Do you like it?
You're too kind.

The light shines on,
your loveliness,
as you greet the morning
with a friendly hello.
As I write, the Sun starts,
shining on my paper.
It's a good sign, at least,
to me.
Reflections of life, at this time,
causes me to
ask what happens next?
What am I to do?

A thousand days,
a thousand sighs.
What happens,
when love dies?

A million smiles,
and smiling eyes.
What happens,
when love dies?

A lot of anger,
and I apologize.
What happens,
when love dies?

A misunderstanding,
before my demise.
What happens,
when love dies?

Too many excuses,
too many lies.
What happens,
when love dies?

Loving you forever,
thinking I was wise.
What happens,
when love dies?

Too many heartaches,
too many cries.
What happens,
when love dies?

Love blooms eternal
when you realize.
What happens,
when love dies?

Why do you bother,
why do you write?
Is your life better,
or is it just alright?

Confusion runs amok,
in this old mind.
A mind of indifference,
trying to be kind.

The World is a
strange place, to be,
when I am near you,
I cannot see.

What lies ahead,
although I know,
there is no cure
and you will go,
away from me.

"There is nothing like an old friend."

My old friend Art dropped by,
to see what condition
my condition was in.
Sharp pains in my wrists.
Oh, what a treat it was.
No special reason
on that ordinary day,
just take more Tylenol
for arthritis.