She is as beautiful
as butterflies in Spring
Her hair flutters in the breeze;
a gentle sneeze
from the soft blowing winds
She is beautiful; she is ...
Her skin glows golden
like daffodils at summers end
and just as flowers often do,
she blooms
In a world of trampled
black and white weeds,
she truly is as beautiful
as butterflies in Spring

*to my beautiful neice Nikita

In the midnight of our days
there is no moon
for me to gaze upon
No whispering willows
or symphonies of the night
Just the blaring days sun
blindingly bright
In the midnight of our days,
there is no quiet of the night
The silent hue of stars
no where in sight
The humdrum of the day
becomes wrapped
like a regifted package;
boring and forgotten
passed on
like one moment to the next
In the midnight of our days
I day dream
of chirping crickets
and hooting owls
of whispering willows
and lone wolf howls
In the midnight of our days
I ache for the peacefulness
of the night

I left you
three days

But you
never
left me
at all