There in a field
Along an old highway road
Among scores of wild flowers
Sat a lonely, little house
Abandoned
And not much to look at
It was the worse for wear
There had been no one there
To give it attention
And some proper care

For many, the house had gone unnoticed
But I was drawn to its solitude
I pictured myself
Sitting on its front porch
Watching a sunrise
Or rocking in a chair at night
Gazing upon the moon and stars
Provided especially for me
And my little house

We had our fears
and shed our tears
we labored on
through hidden years
when we look back
on lessons learned
we hope, at least
some bridges burned

I am a heathen
who just went vegan
and now I have nothing to eat
I have nothing but juice
and now I'm reduced
to searching for food in the street
they found me at dawn
on somebody's lawn
seasoning the boots on my feet
and to my dismay
I heard the cops say
boots are not what vegans can eat!
help me.

Sometimes I feel the Reaper
Winking at me
He wants to come over
For a chat and some tea
He’ll tell me that I am nothing
But an echo from the past
My future behind me
That I’m fading fast
He’ll score some very clever points
To weaken my resolve
Then sincerely assure me
There’s no problem he can’t solve
But like my neighbor’s crazy dog
Who barks up an empty tree
He and I
Won’t see eye to eye
And he may not enjoy his tea

Cantering through the clover
Listening to a golden flute
He savors this day
With little to say
And dreams of aesthetic pursuit

“I mean to be the master”
He whispers his dubious heart
“The beast cannot win
If I do not give in”
A fight it has been from the start

He has lost some difficult battles
Maybe more than he can count
The inevitable toll
Has tired the poor soul
But strengthened the rebellious mount

The nature of the untamed savage
And the conscience of an inner man
Are engaged in a war
Like never before
The broker doing all that he can

Winter may not be the best time
To look upon the trees
Some stand before us naked
Content if we don’t see

That they are less than beautiful
With their wardrobes gone
Hoping we do not notice
The need to put something on

It’s not like they’re embarrassed
Because they are asleep
So, be careful not to wake them
And for the moment, leave them be

like
a monk’s brilliant mosaic
of colored sand
inspired by God
and then gone
with the wave of his hand
art may capture one
of beauty’s glorious
but fleeting moments
and ease the pain
of its stubborn impermanence