I ponder now, to the years ago,
To what came on every Christmas Eve.
About the gift that I could get,
The perfect gift to have or to receive.

I was only seven, many fleeting years ago,
And I loved all kinds of dessert.
So then, to get the perfect gift,
A chocolate cake was all its worth.

I was asked at 12 to choose my gift
And a new typewriter was all I said.
At a time when technology had once been young,
I was pleased with mine, a branded crimson red.

12 more years passed by and I could not find
A better gift than what I got years ago in my life.
At 40, I celebrate the 8th anniversary
Of the lovey-dovey years I that I spent with my wife.

I'm 55 and weeping, for now both my parents are gone.
My dad just died a week ago, at the ripe age of 83.
If time was a gift, I'd give it to those I love.
Christmas just isn't as complete as it used to be.

It's Christmas yet I'm dying, and loved-ones use the tongue of tears.
My final wish would only be to have my whole life encoded in memory;
For memories are all that I can leave, and all that I could bring,
From all the blessed 86 years-God's own Christmas gift to me.

Flesh of my flesh, you are in my care
Do not dread for filth and froth
Soap and water are your friends this day
As for every day that you are in my thoughts

Flesh of my flesh, be steady, and clutch strong
Do not let the sudden shifts of climate upset you
By pesters of sunbeams and teases of raindrops
May the advantage of garment escort you

Flesh of my flesh, what has gone wrong?
You are turning to be faint and lean each day
Did the accident in the pool have something to do
With why the hue of your vigor is fading away?

Flesh of my flesh, I have feared these times
I am right to say that you are now a cut on my skin
But as more days traverse and hours make dates
My wound became a scar, a reminder of my regrets herein

Flesh of my flesh, I can never bring back
Those times of sweet perfection that we once had
If I could just…No…that won't work too
I am as remorseful now as I am sad

Flesh of my flesh, don't be so stiff on us both
My past is already filled with great anxiety
I would just as be pleased for our hostilities to end
Do your share, now, and find some heartfelt sympathy

Flesh of my flesh, then so it must be?
You have resolved to part ways, and I won't hold back
If that is what you wish then I'm happy for you
The time has come for reality to return to its track

Flesh of my flesh, as you wink a "goodbye"
Do not forget the strong words, the distinct taps, and sights
There is deep roots unearthed and replanted elsewhere in time
May rest find you in darkness, and may peace greet you in light

A woman, through a man’s eye, should be seen as a flower.
Like a flower, a woman bears grace and various beauties.
The kind wind breathes into them life and delicate splendor.
A woman hides her pride and a flower keeps its duties.

They are rather chiefs of their jobs and champion of their games.
Both influence, by respects, the entirety of the earth.
Better than trophies in shelves and certificates in frames:
They are gifts from God; breathes life- one’s of man’s rib-within dirt.

So, with that, such creation would draw love under man’s gaze-
Love that would urge a man to have possession of such jewel.
But, pick a flower and it will die, in either ways
And she will cease to be what he loves, and him, as luck’s fool

Love, for women or for all, is not about possession,
To who or what- Love must be about appreciation

My head falls deep into
Her shoulders, gently,
As she would not need to nudge.

My Arm finds its place around her back,
Stalking in good terms,
I lean and feel receptive touch.

I feel as though
My approach was out of place.
My hand throttles back, firmly, But in fluid grace.
I put it out in winter soft,
That she might not resort to sob.
I prepare to leave my seat as if told,
Remarking her that it was out of love

I don't know if I love her.
She is absent and unaware.
I have partially opened my heart.
Do I love something not even there?

I know that I love her.
She is present but unaware.
A keyhole divides where my heart is concerned.
I am in love and the world looks fair.

I know that I love her.
She is present and is somewhat aware.
Chances are my luck will turn better.
Does she know that I am someone who cares?

I know that I love her.
She is aware but makes no move.
Is my love creaking softly that she is unmindful?
Are there truths that I still have yet to prove?

I question myself if I still love her.
She remains heedless of what she knows.
I am knocking at the other side of a bolted door.
I will walk the path where only time flows.

My heart now knows what my brain knew first.
She is now gone and free from a passing rumor.
I still stand upon where I was to give my heart.
If only she had turned that second **** better.