There's a train that takes you
as you are,
there's no need to change
your way
it like a journey to
a star
but you don't have to
stay.

It's called the mystery train,
you board at your own pace;
you don't have to go insane,
you don't have to hide your face.

Everyone is welcome there,
they're chasing their own dream;
no one knows just where,
you supply your own grand scheme.

It starts when you are sleeping,
when the sandman comes around;
in dreams the joy comes creeping,
that's when ecstasy is found.

There's a train that takes you
as you are
no changes are required
it sometimes takes you
very far
you'll feel loved and
quite inspired.

The mystery train is free for all,
no charge, no pay, no fee;
can you hear its whistle call?
it's for you and it's for me.

December kisses are -
cold and frozen touches;
pre-winter winds of frost,
that chills as well as clutches.

It bites the face with glee,
the breeze, it nips the ear;
reminding me this season,
is well along I fear.

Next, the ice will form,
in icicles and puddles;
snow will filter down,
before it sticks and muddles.

Freezing comes in quick,
the early chilling dawn;
we dress in several layers,
what it is that we put on.

December kisses are -
frigid, frosty. numbing;
for awhile, we're Eskimos,
for we know, that soon, it's coming.

I've had my fill of turkey,
perhaps a bit too much;
too much pumpkin pie,
sweet potatoes in my clutch.
And now, the stomach pays,
for the act of overeating;
if manners were the norm,
I'm afraid that I'd be cheating.
Why do we over do the things,
things we love and cherish?
and when the sleep does come,
it's often quite nightmarish.
Food will do that to you,
your dreams become bizzare;
the leftovers you take home,
you don't leave them in the car.
Another slice of pie won't hurt,
it slides right down, like jelly;
and later when, your aching,
it leads back to the belly.
Oh,  Thanksgiving is a beast,
with too much food and laughter;
for we neglect to overlook,
what comes to us soon after.

Think of a world
without some love;
of earth -
without a song;
of life -
without a lover,
of where your heart
belongs.
Think of a kiss
without much passion,
of hugs -
that don't feel right;
of a limpid, shallow
handshake,
that doesn't feel
quite tight.
Think of a friend,
that turns his back,
and looks the other way;
think of a child
without much laughter,
that chooses not
to play.
Think of a sky without
the stars,
no moon to light
the dark;
think of a silent, empty
world,
without a meadowlark.
Think of a world,
that has no God,
only man's "great" reason;
only man at the controls,
in this and every season.
Is there such a horrid world
when love is no solution?
then face those days of
endlessness,
with man-made home
pollution.

November quirky winds,
blow warm, and then so cold;
it's autumn, fast receding,
it's winter getting bold.
Holidays keep spinning,
the shopping, the spending;
advertisement heaven,
is close to never-ending.
November kills the leaves,
in spurts, in numbing fury;
the people flock to malls,
in too much of a hurry.
November hides the sun,
in shadow and in darkness;
it kills the budding flower,
as it displays its starkness.

The Lord's my Hope and my Salvation,
with Him, I do not need another thing;
He is the head of each and every nation,
in Him alone,  does my voice sing.

In the green grass of home, I often lie,
and in the face of death I do not fear;
at ease, by the waters that flow by,
He's in my heart and He is always near.

He keeps me from my wicked enemies,
at His table, a feast He does prepare;
though they are close, they cannot see,
they have no God, and can only stare.

He anoints me with His precious love,
and my glass is filled up to the brim;
my thoughts are floating there, above,
and I have contentment just in Him.

Knowing faith will be my chosen path,
and that His mercy in me will not fail;
that alone will keep me from His wrath,
through all the mountains and the vales.

Can't we send some turkey,
to those with hunger pains?
to fill their empty bellies,
by air or ship or trains?
Can't we share some greens?
or scrumptious pumpkin pie?
or do we loosen belts too tight;
and let our wishes die?
Too much meat we feed our faces,
portions drying on the plate;
while those that starve remain,
and waste what we deem fate.
The biggest day of eating's here;
we go past the full-up mark;
while children lie in  waiting,
their bodies, gaunt and stark.
Thanksgiving means the act of sharing,
not how much we can put down;
please give away what you can't eat,
the folks that need, are all around.
Too much the fork and cutting knife,
too much the sweets we gobble fast;
as if the food might disappear,
as if the sweets won't last.