I am afraid. My mouth is dry.
Not going to weep nor will I cry.
I'm six years old, wondering why
My parent's left me with no goodbye.
Great grandmother Fischer was sitting with me.
I didn't know her language was from Germany.
Was I afraid? More than likely, I think I was,
No reason, I'm sure. Probably just because

The kitten played and he tugged
With the yarn ball on the rug.
He batted it with a tiny paw,
Snipping and biting with his small jaw.
A string was exciting, he started to prance,
In doing so it was much like a dance.
Tiring, after he played, he'd go to my lap
To fall asleep, short like a nap.
The joy that this kitten, did bring
To my life, was a wonderful thing.
Thanks be to God for this happiness,
In this World that is in such a mess.
Be good to each other, is now my plea,
So you enjoy your life, like kitty and me.

You were a silhouette in the Sun.
I didn't know that you were the one,
Or the destiny we were waiting for.
To love, honor and to adore.
The years have passed, too quickly now.
I pledge, again, my troth to thou.

My mind is locked at this time.
I won't weep or become sublime
But will stay to this craft,
Unless, of course, I'm becoming daft.
Always possible in this day and age.
Don't like it? Turn the page.

I was seventeen or in between
My eighteen years. My father
had bought a truck, a 39 Ford,
One and a half ton, with V8 and
A two speed Eaton. Dad had
A contractor install a bed,
That could be elevated to drop
A load of Peas, Corn or Wheat.
I would pick up workers and take
Them home from the Pea Viner's.

When working, hauling Wheat, out
Kittitas way, heading to the
Grain elevator, to dump my load of
Wheat. The State Patrol had a road block.
I was pumping my brakes to make a stop,
But the weight of the Wheat was not
Helping. Needless to say, "No Ticket."
Went to the elevator, dumped the Wheat,
Back to the field for another load.
I would drive alongside the Combine
And the wheat would come down a
Funnel and fill up the bed.
Repeat this task until all the Wheat
Is gone and only straw remains.

What is this life that has been lost?
Was it worth the hateful cost?
Will the life come back on the morrow?
Or will your life go on, in sorrow?

When I write that my mind is unsound
I try not to imply, there is something wrong.
It's just the worry that comes to me,
What I'll do when I no longer can be,
The support, that she needs.
A puzzle? Sure but not one to lose
As there are options that we can choose.

I dislike this part of growing old,
When our friends are dropping
Like flies in the cold.
Another class mate
Has now gone away.
It will soon be my turn,
Just not today.

Late last Summer; some barren ground,
Tempted me to spread or lay down,
A mixture of old Perennial seed.
The seed did grow, without a weed
And flowers with a very strong stalk,
By the edge of our City sidewalk.
Daisies, Bachelor Buttons and mystery flowers
Grew and grew through day light hours.
Blues, Whites, Golds one could see
And a sense of good, was mine to be.
This year, the flowers, some new to me,
With the arrival of a Orange Blackseed Poppy.
I can hardly wait to see the surprise,
When that corner of flowers do arrive.

It's now 4 AM in the morning.
I am starting to fade.
I have been up for hours,
Avoiding sleep, my tirade.
I need to quit writing, and creep
Into my bed and go back to sleep.