'Twas but a little love
that never went away
it blossomed like a rose
like the touch of spring in May

For the heart was made alive
as the days became more sunny
and the soul was stirred by love
and its taste was kin to honey

Something soft and sweet
something warm and tender
filled my mind with wonder
and the magic that it rendered

'Twas but a little love
that had its winsome way
that led me by its hand
and wouldn't go away.

God is not the author of confusion
but can we say the same of man?
he shoves aside the word of God
is that something we can understand?

Man has tried his best to make peace
but his efforts destroy his very plan
it's time to put God back in our life
lest we fall,  as we attempt to stand.

Wars do not solve the anger issues
conflict brings sorrow and more pain
we're left with nothing much accomplished
with little solace  - and very little gain.

We've removed God's blessing by rejection
with abortion, with the wickedness of life
the violence that spreads and conquers
is as deadly and as sharp as any knife.

We are no longer,  what we call united
division covers us, just like a plague
nothing more in life is certain
only something that we call vague.

It's time to shed some things
that bind us and encumber
things that lost their value
like old and useless lumber.
It's time to discard clothing
to the thrift stores they will go
once they had their moments
but moments pass, you know.
I'll give away,  my old L.P.'s
that now,  I seldom play
long ago they had their time
but that time has slipped away.
And don't forget,  all the books
I won't read them anymore
they now are useless items
of violence, crime and gore.
It's time to bury yesterday
the sixties are long gone
just one season now remains
to sing my old life's song.

Who is the man who looks back at me?
the image that I see?
I look a little closer, ***, that's me!
My hair is receding quickly,
there's a bald spot up on top;
at my age, I can't grow a new crop.
The eyes take a while to get brighter -
the small goatee is gray or it's white;
there's a haggard look at dawn,
depending upon the light.
I rise from my bed with slowness,
sit on the side for a bit;
behind the window's curtain,
the morning's becoming lit.
I walk with a cane and a flashlight,
in the bathroom I hit the switch;
the light is suddenly brighter,
my God- old life's a *****.
It takes me some time to get going,
two cups of coffee drunk slow;
I stretch out my legs at the sink,
by God now, I'm ready to go.
I grab Jax's leash from the wall,
he's prancing and all ready to go;
I grab my hat and sunglasses,
we exit -  and go with the flow.

The early morning coolness
finds me on the trail, walking
the crispness of the dawn
looking here and there, gawking;
A hike for me is pleasant
and something of a boon,
I smile at the image before me
for I am walking toward the moon.
though I am not getting any closer
its fullness shines as I look south;
the man in the moon is not apparent
but if I look close, I can see his mouth.
The loop I take is on a high ridge
the highway traffic off to my right;
they're all rushing off to work
I turn, and they are gone from sight.
Back to the car, where I have parked
I make my way on dirt-packed narrow trails;
there are no short-cuts that I take
and the sense of one good walk prevails.

2,000, five hundred feet higher,
it's ten degrees cooler up here;
than the place where I now live
watching the green cacti near.

From where I am,  I can't see it,
I'm too far to the north and east;
but the views I do have,  are great,
Verde Valley's a high desert feast.

The peaks behind Flagstaff's are lovely,
Eighty-nine A winds her way to Jerome;
and a shelter of pines line my footpath,
as we amble and stride and do roam.

Jax - is my  faithful companion,
adorable, trustworthy...true;
a canine that I can call buddy,
he's with me in most things that I do.

The road is a thousand feet lower,
like a concrete snake amid trees;
Wood-Chute mountain's enchanting,
as once more, I return, to just see.

The heart is tired and growing heavy,
the body's calling me to sweet sleep;
I say so long for things today,
as the land of Nod in stillness creeps.
I will dream and not remember,
I will wake, let's hope, refreshed;
even in the fog of early morning,
as sleep and wakefulness, are meshed.
Goodnight to friends and fellow poets,
thanks for all the joys you bring;
that tug at our emotions daily,
that cause the weary soul to sing.
Sharing grievance with the world,
sharing every happiness;
without your voices heard and raised,
your poems would all be sorely missed.