I stand in a field
of cold stillness
Amidst it’s golden strands
I raise my arms
to hold the sun’s face
so warmly in my hands

Hang your troubles
on the Tree of Sorrows
Look for ones
to steal or borrow
Then step around
the tree again
grateful
that another’s pain

is not your own

“I have to look for your father”
we’d hear our poor mother say
for he had little fear
standing on the great pier
during a storm on the bay

When father had the Black Irish
we’d hear hear our poor mother pray
“Keep him off that **** pier”
when bad weather was near
so the sea couldn’t wash him away

Hope springs eternal
in the fertile ground of imagination

In the early spring
when flowers bloom
the daffodils dance
by the light of the moon
Their time is short
yet dance with glee
for the night can’t own them
and they will always be
children of a rising sun

If one could receive a penny
for every moment spent
in self-indulgent worry
one might become rich
But, would quite probably trade
all that wealth away
for all the good times lost
between faith, family, and friends

He stares from across the room
Mad for every bashful lash of her eyes
Every ungraceful turn
and near stumble
Each uncomfortable moment
makes it abundantly clear that
she must be rescued
from the brute force of all this mockery
So, tonight he rides
as the knight
she thought would never come