No one will tell you, I do suppose
They know where the Red Fern grows.
High in the mountains, into the dale,
Following the path of an unmarked trail.
Down through the valley, into the glade,
It's a dangerous journey that you have made.
Past the shadows, down by the spring,
What's seen next, is a beautiful thing.
Moss covered rocks; downed logs in repose,
This is where the Red Fern grows.
Magical indeed is the sight of the scene,
Where the love of another, does not demean
What should be years, months, days and hours
Of caring for others, in this World of ours.
This wonderous place of beauty, I propose,
That all see where the Red Fern Grows.

Inspired by the Novel, Where the Red Fern Grows
By Wilson Rawls, 1961

I hear an echo of words from the past.
I'm writing them down; as they come too fast.
Down to the paper where they stick like glue.
Some are good but they number a few.
Words can be like chaff in the hay,
Some last forever, some gone on this day.
The echo of words, I hear in a song,
Brings back the voice of my Father
Who for many years has been gone.
Words that are not laced with fear
But old words that I hold most dear.

There once was a time,
There once was a place,
Where our words did rhyme,
While our love did embrace.
It cost not a dime
But left an indelible trace.
It was the only time
And I remember the place,
Having a glass of wine
And recalling your face.

I love you my darling
You know that I do,
But the missing emotions
Are not, like you.
The sadness, when we are apart
Is slowly breaking my heart.
My body is beginning to ache.
My emotions lie inside and forsake
Our closeness and I hope that you see,
My love remains very strong for thee.

A heavy frost is what I see
As the sprouting plants ask for amnesty.
Shrub and lawns all white as can be
That Spring is still away from me.

There is beauty and grace, that I see,
If only you would talk to me.
Small words come, so painfully,
My love, I share with thee.

What else is there to see?
Where else? It came to me,
To be aware of your plight,
Yet falling asleep at darkest night.

From whence came I, she said to me,
As I awoke from my reverie?
A lost soul is who you are,
Added a voice, across the bar,
You arrived by bus, not by car.
A spirit in the wind, is what I see,
So leave or stay, but let us be
And I returned to my reverie.

Days have come and days have gone.
The days, so bright, with coming dawn
And then, while the days went by,
We questioned answers and asked why,
Those that we loved, who went away,
Never returning at the end of day.
Leave me not
With pain so great
Life goes on although we now do pray.

The Frost is back
With grass all white.
It's still dark
Not yet the light.
The bulbs of daffodils
Have pushed up
Through the soil.
Today is to be,
Sunny, as we toil.