Sticks and cloth,
high up in the tree,
the remains of a kite
is what I see.

Harvesting hay,
providing the feed
to horses and cows,
it's what they need,
to provide dairy
or win a great race.
For tilling the land,
to raise crops
for the hungry,
as we harvest in full,
providing abundance,
for one and for all.

I awoke at 4 am,
another night lost,
for 3 hours sleep
is now my cost.
I will yawn and
be tired all day,
realizing sleep is
a few hours away.

It's Sundown time once more
as she ruffles through old Christmas
cards. She'll read the names
and I will answer to her,
"our nephews family or
co-worker from long ago."
When she did this in the past,
it bothered me some,
but now I know it's her
way to remember the past.

I have no time
to sit and to mope,
for as an adult,
I act like a dope.

Soft are the lies,
which caress her ears,
soft as a cloud,
to ease her fears.
Soft are the words
you now say to she,
for soft words are needed
to bring love and piety.

How can I be quiet?
It's so hard to do,
thinking of the excitement
when I'm here with you.

No more tomorrow.
No more to write.
No more the words.
No more tonight.

You light up my heart,
when you talk to me,
for I am a gullible soul,
who loves most of life,
even when I can't predict,
what the future will bring.
Bring on the music.
Bring back the dance.
Bring back the joy.
Bring back romance.

A fountain of joy
is what I see,
when I hear your voice,
I want to sing;
Thank you Lord.
Thanks for allowing me,
to do what I do.

The Lake was flat,
nary a breeze.
I waited for you,
on a favorite bench
and idled my time,
to sketch out the scene.
I remembered a time,
when we first met,
down by the shoreline.
A gravel shoreline
was next to the bulkhead.
No sand but a lot of ducks.
Now, as we have aged
and grown out of sort,
should we still meet,
or just do an abort?

The wayward path,
my path to roam.
My travels over,
my path to Home