Is this life now over?
Has it fallen apart?
Will the virus which romps,
Bringing many a sad heart?
So many lives gone,
Too many to see,
As the Commander in Chief,
Is nowhere to be,
Taking control of a plant,
Instead of sulking,
With his Ego apart.
Too bad he doesn't have
An empathetic heart.

Looking out the window,
there's no trace of Moon glow,
just the street light reflection
from the wet streets, below.
Is this another overcast, rainy day,
or will we see the Sun later today?

The winding road,
curved through the trees.
Serpentine is the description
that comes to me.
The dirt was red,
with bits of yellow.
A pleasant sight now,
but when it was wet,
you would lose traction
and slip and slide
was your foot's reaction.

There was a starkness amongst the
barren branches of trees in
the Arboretum, on this grey,
Christmas Day.
And yet, there was a sign of
welcome. A sign of a Spring,
yet to come.
Plants are beginning an early bud.
Daffodils are showing their tips,
an offering the Rabbit will choose
to ignore.
Hellebores are close to a bloom.
A glorious sight on this hallowed day.

The shrill cry of a Seagull,
with the loud noise of the Sea,
brings back the sounds and smells
from the depth of my memory.
The feeling of wet sand 'tween my toes,
recalls the chill and a runny nose.
I'm up this morning, on the beach,
seeing children playing; dogs at their feet.
A relaxing view, as I hurry along;,
now searching for some more words,
I'm still hearing from an old song.
What pleasure the thoughts bring to me,
recalling my last visit and the smell of the Sea.

My mind selects words, hither and yon.
You're my soul mate and you are gone,
Away from being so close to me.
Your presence is here and I see,
The loveliest vision in this broad land;
My love is yours, without a command.
Stay with me please; forever this time
For I haven't the words for this to rhyme.

The warmth of your hand,
caresses my brow,
causing a pause.
The part of my mind
where my memories are.
The remains of the past,
come back to me,
as I recall our life's
journey, once more.
You don't remember;
I do, of course.
When we were
much, much younger
and the sound of your
voice. I fought back
my tears for the
time in our life's
memories are in arrears.

I love how your eyes sparkle.
I love the sound of your laugh.
The issue is with your accent
Which would choke a giraffe.
It isn't funny, I know when I say
But sometimes my mind works that way.

Driving at night,
through a driving rain.
Those words in print
are hard to explain.
Don't worry now;
try not to upset,
the use of the words,
"Lest we forget."
Lest is a word,
I do assume.
But from whence
it came is obscure.
Remind me now
of what it must be,
being a "purple cow'.
Oh, I do see,
the difference in words,
coming from our history.
This writing makes
very little sense,
for as I write,
my head is quite dense.
So off I go;
I'm off to see,
if these words, I write
are just, crazy, old me.

The Sun broke out
on this lovely Fall day,
only the wind gusts
kept us from being outside.
There was a nip
of Frost, in the air
as the flowers and leaves
have made their last gasp,
as Nature's cycle had,
collapsed the mass brood
of the Dahlias, so full
of forgotten blooms, leaf and stalk,
which creates a subject
during this long Fall stroll or walk.