My oldest friends
are close to me,
as I live my life,
in a sad reverie.

Life was good.
Life was grand,
until the earth
turned to sand.

Where goethe my soul
on this somber day,
of low clouds
and skies of grey?

Should I run and hide
or should I simply flee?
The decision for this ride
is solely up to me.

Why does humanity
border on the edge
of a terrible insanity?

I have written words,
some coarse, some fine
and found some words,
which are Divine.
Words, which promise
riches and fame.
Words for each of
you to stake out
your personal claim.
A claim to promise,
honor and to obey,
your life's partner
in every way.

What is this life, ours,
but a collection of memories.
A series of events
of our combined histories.

When memories are gone
and have faded away,
there is no recollection
of our own yesterday.

We learn many things,
many by rote.
Why did we lose them?
There wasn't a vote.

Where has love gone?
It was here yesterday.
Our feelings for each other
change and go away.

Tell me a story,
I am begging thee.
A story of life's depravity;
of the talk of not wearing a mask,
and refusing the vaccine.
Where is the story in there
of those who don't care
about the lives of their loved
ones.

The barn had been red
in its younger days.
Now the wood has faded
to beautiful greys.
The walls, once straight,
now bowed on this day.
The roof, when new; rife with shingles,
has holes, letting in the rain.
So, a leaky, faded red barn,
is now where the children play.

A slight breeze ruffles the
leaf's of the vine,
as the fruit begins to
ripen and grow,
towards a day when
the harvest begins,
with the picking and crush
of the grapes.
The crushed grapes will sit
for awhile.
Soon it will be the right
time for bottling the
juice, from the vine.
Next step, is to taste
the finest of wine,
at the Rooster Cafe and Bakery,
patio, amongst the fruit
of the vine.