You've got a heart of gold
    You must be an angel
       Well, you see dear
        Gravity still exists
                  And this
                    Angel
                         Is
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                    Falling

There is a chill in the air.
That wasn't there before.
The flowers have dried up,
as warm days are no more.
Soon will come the season of cold.
And snow will cover the carpet
of leaves so gold.
The biting air nips my ears and nose.
Yet the Autumn day is bright,
as the sun pours forth its light.
I walk on.
Beside the Unseen One.
Who is my Forever Companion.
He leads me to a broad, spacious place.
A  quiet field.
Like a land flowing with milk and honey.
I feel peaceful and free.
With no more chains binding me.
Then He whispers to my soul,
"Take this path,"
And I walk upon a straight white line.
Upon the grass.
He reminds me not to stray.
To the right or to the left.
For the Way to Life
is narrow and straight.
I stay on the path stretched out before me,
for the path of the righteous shines brighter
and brighter until the perfect day.
"I will guide your feet into the peaceful way,"
I hear my loving Saviour say.
And I pray,
"Lord, let me stay near You,
forever and alway.
For You are the Lover of my soul.
And You have set me free from slavery.
To a land flowing with milk and honey."

(edited)

She was here
Again last night,
She shows up
In my dreams;
She slipped her arm
In mine, held tight,
And called me
By my name.
I can't say for sure,
You know what dreams are like,
But I felt her here,
As if awake,
How I love the night.

When I packed a spoon with lunch
this Indian summer afternoon
and lured adventure from a catacomb
to a lagoon by a river near a park thus my walk was absorptive

As a rainbow pen with fountain mist
while my imagination found her clouds that chose a fair weather friend now found in my arms just in time again...

This is why the world is curved;
So we cannot see too far down our path -
enabling us to discover our surroundings,
and enjoy it's flowers.

Spinning silver , silken sweaters with -
my catawba brethren , foresting oakwood estates
beside red fox companions , in witness of white-tail herds ,
compelling frigid streams of yellow perch and shellcracker , lemongrass sun hued byways engulfed in dewdrop prisms reign atop pattern encrusted red clay earth
In memory of morning , of the caterwauling Alabama easterlies ,
of vagabond waterbirds that sail frost laden , bucolic scenery