Its a Land with 3 inches of Soil
Sprouts High Voltage Lines, Oil Derriks
And Microwave Towers everywhere
Like a Modern Steel Forest Landscape

The wind is ever present and Unending
Its a Cruel Wind, strips the Paint off of All
At Night the Howling and Humming of
All that steel wire sets your teeth on edge

The wind Strips the electrons from All
Leaving a Negative charge in the Air
Like some Electrical Spirit plagues the Land
Scrambling your thoughts and Actions

Its the Desolation Where Revial Meeting Tents
Flapped in 1930s wind there for Salvation of Souls
The Place where anger flares up from Minds wore down
A Brother gets shot over Drumstick in any given town

At the motel I pace in the Night hounded by the sound
As if I had to witness this Howling wind strip the Ground
Morning coffee I reach for a Styrofoam Cup with the Rolls
It Leaps 5 inches into my hand trying to get away from this Land

A Land of endless wind and sand run across West Texas Like
A Frieght train Whistling and Howling as it Rumbles By
Shaking the Ground with its Passing Through the Town
The Lands Only Salvation is its Blue unending Skies

In the Still of the Night
On the Top of the hill
As we Lie looking at the Sky
Awaiting a Comet to Pass By
My Mother told me a Tale

Back when Magic Waned
And the Machine age began
With sorrow for its passing
The last of the Elves set off for afar
Left for the sky, on the Elven Star

Machines had robbed the Minerals
And smoke destroyed the Herbs
And Poisons had ruined the Water
Precious Elements from Sacred Fire
No Longer Helped them heal the Earth

The night they left the legend says...
A Bright comet passed, By in the Sky
The Elven Ships Journey  on a Magic Tail
Leaving behind a Golden Age Now Pale
The Elven ship returns at 75 years to pass By

And this is our Only chance to see Elves in the Sky...JMF 3/10/2015

The Luck of the Irish isn't found in a stone
It isn't found in a Field of clover
Its not found in the Irish Sweepstake even
That is, not unless you're the one that wins
Its found in the twinkle of the eye , you know it
And we're all borm with the tongues of a poet.....Erin4Ever

In an Irish Pub was
A soft spoken Man
Walked up to the bar
And Ordered a Black and Tan
The Barkeepcame back at a Swagger
With a bottle of Guinness and a Harp Lager
In a pint mug he mixed the foamy Brew
Raising the pint he asked what should I drink to
The barkeep said, Well you can.....
Drink to Health, Drink to wealth, Drink to the village Baker
Drink to Anything, But never Drink to the undertaker--- Erin4Ever