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BTW 11h
These are those times
16 January 2021

These are those times my heart could have wings.
Times when angels joy filled truths sing.
These are those times I hear a wolf cry.
Times shivering cold. Everyone dies.
Suns through low valleys now bright shine.
Tomorrow comes that breaking heart time.
Granites green still hold the blue sea.
Times still when you can love me.
Hold me close, I’m in your hands.
These are times fate truly planned.
Winds, pine scent, stirring fine fair.
Music, dancing, lilting soft, your hair.
Smiles tender on pink gentled lips.
Words trusting we never have slipped.
Time to love tight always my wife,
Time of passion, fire, stresses. Strife.
Sunsetting now on what’s left in my life.
Time coming right weaving our way.
Times still for sweet grateful days.
Time coming when I will our sins pay.
Time stilled for our love’s play.
Darling, time leaves that way.
BTW 1d
Quieter Mornings
15 January 2021

Quieter mornings, no noise, no phone,
Leave me time to wonder, atone.
Your beauty, your grace, our place in this world.
Dreams fulfilled, life sparkles white pearl.
Time to love, tender your touch.
Quiet that gives us, love’s own sweet rush.
Laughing at midnight at an old silly joke.
Giving my ribs a gentle light poke.
As cool air wafts through our trees,
Quiet times. I remember those moments,
When we are alone, loving. Quiet times.
BTW 6d
Flat Champagne
10 January 2021

Sparkles left yesterday,
Whispers.
Searching for bubbles, a fruitless chase.
Drinking left over wine, no taste.
Searching for another place.
What a waste.
BTW Jan 6
6 January 2021

Functionality,
Is not my reality.
World broken.
BTW Jan 6
In the strangest of times, I want to swear,
I should wear, long green underwear.
Walk any street, in our  little town,
Undressed or not, smile or big frown.
How  is  one sure, that this not the way,
When old folks like me, just want to play?
Happiness flows through our crazy day.

I saw a city crowded and free,
People who thought, normal they be.
Here at my place, it makes little sense,
To build a garden, white picket fence.
Not that I would, such a mad thing,
Rather would hear, old Big Ben ring.

Out in our palace we take strangest chances.
Middle of night, pancakes with dances.
Whipped cream, blue berries, wine and red flowers.
This goes on, for hours and hours.

Whirling around, fleet feet in the air,
Things only normal when others wide stare.
Some think normal is how you should be.
Do they know any better than me?
BTW Jan 3
Winter of Lost Dreams
3 January 2021

Summer sweet - apples and cider.
Fall - red orange fruit warmed with sun.

One:
Winter fousting, “comes tigers. Wider, wilder!”
“Wire-***** crushing febrile has te!”
Two:
Cleft finest dream , “Break!”
“Ancient treasure, measure where is my gold!”

Winter’s frost boldened tiger, hungered, hunts for lost dreams.
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