I lace my fingers
with the snowy night
as I rest upon
carmine linen and lilies,
my hand out of
the window,
wet snowflakes caressing this
open palm of mine

with heavens I speak
of slumbering spring and
your name and how
both of you see
my stars, my peonies,
yet you
hide yours from this
open palm of mine

I lace my fingers
with the snowy night,
for I am weary
of you and winter
my hand out of
the window,
wet snowflakes soothing this
open palm of mine

My life is full of poetry
in lyrical design
Expressions in a rhythm
that ascend and then decline.

One moment I am full of joy,
then sorrow breaks my heart.
My soul is touched by music
and the thrill that it imparts.

I love the rain, embrace the sun
and smile at winter snow.
I crave the full moon's silver light
and dance beneath the glow.

I savor sweet aromas
taking pleasure in the breeze
And love the gentle rustle,
as it passes through the trees.

Yes, poetic is the gift of life,
inspiring me to rhyme.
I'd write a million odes to it,
but I just don't have the time!

Evening has subsided with a whisper in the west.
It chased the sunset's final rays as she prepared for rest.

Night has dropped her curtain but the moon has come to play.
The overture begins, as lonely crickets have their way.

The breeze begins to soften and the grass is standing still.
The leaves no longer beckon in the trees upon the hill.

I huddle in the darkness and await the rising wind.
A prayer is formed upon my lips, in homage to a friend.

And there ... I feel the sweet caress, a hand upon my cheek
A breeze that comes from someone ... from the passing soul, I seek.

And as I watch the lingering stars and hear the rustling leaves
I know that she has left this world and heavenward, she weaves.

I bid farewell to one, who loved this life, and all it gave
I dedicate this poem to her and toward the moon, I wave.