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.

Rivers of living waters,
flow through these aging bones;
refreshing vital fluids,
how pleasant are their tones.

Babbling brooks of life,
filtered by green-filled fields;
the substance of our being,
how sweet the bounty yields.

Fountains of clear, clean truth,
that give to you, your measure;
filling your cup, to its brim,
with God-given bits of treasure.

He who drinks of these waters,
shall never thirst again;
gone is the carnal man,
that relishes in sin.

Rivers of living waters,
comfort this soul of mine;
content in a new creation,
content to let time unwind.

The splattered skunk lies
spread eagled on the road,
creating a new white line,
where none existed before;
I fly on by at seventy-five
wrapped in  my race car mode,
the skunk is mangled badly,
his inner being has no core.

Huge black ravens hippity-hop,
as I close the gap between us,
nonchalantly, as if to say,
hey- I was here before you;
I watch them dodge me and
I mutter out a silent cuss,
the mess is hardly recognizable,
a mass of protoplasm I call goo.

The stench of dying musk prevails,
gets you coming and gets you going,
I breathe though my mouth,
but the odor still is prevalent;
there are dead animals on the street,
dried blood not longer flowing,
bigger ones can wreck your auto
or leave one hellacious dent.

We **** them this way or another,
with guns and our pollution,
some that were, are now no more
extinct, or **** close to it;
I wish we could pass a law
or come up with a resolution,
that saves all creatures from our wrath,
before the day we rue it.

I am tired of the
long and winding road,
the miles that seem to be,
never ending in their length;
the constant search for
new and far horizons,
erodes my tiring strength.

Yet there's adventure in
the climbing of the hill,
when suddenly, the view
appears unto the tired eye;
the scene unfolds below,
so beautiful, it makes one sigh.

The clouds recede in
shaded, varied form,
a hint of rain or just a shower;
nature's show of budding dreams,
I'm in awe, of its great power.

I am a weary traveler on this day,
the open highway becomes dull;
the hum of tires, monotonous,
I have lapsed into a lull.

I stop for coffee,   at some
unknown and lonely town;
park and **** the engine's noise,
stop and stretch and walk around.

The coffee does the trick
and I am off once more,
good for another hundred miles;
the cattle in the fields, behind
the fences, leer at me,  with
stupid smiles.

I approached it with trepidation
asking, does this thing even float?
shut up and hop in he laughed
and please, don't rock the boat.

I  am, a middle-of-the-roader
careful not to get anybody's goat;
not to hurt anybody's feelings
to behave and never rock the boat.

It was a chilly, windy, rainy day
I'd brought a sweater and a coat;
I side-stepped gingerly aboard
making sure, I didn't rock the boat.

I was aware of his funny, wary look
I made sure to smile and not to gloat;
I seated myself with slow anticipation
serious and stern, not to rock the boat.

Relax,  I think we're safe in this old tub
if it sinks, then by god that's all she wrote;
one more time, I remind you, my friend
be alert and aware, and don't rock the boat.

Craggy spires atop a canyon wall,
against a pure blue sky and sun;
the creek's flowing over tiny bridges,
and the day is only partly done.

Twenty miles away, lies Tucson,
you can see it's skyline shimmer;
but here is nature,  in the raw,
those are memories that linger.

Saguaros stand in stately fashion,
amongst the rock and barren land;
the views, they take away your breath,
the vistas sweeping, wide and grand.

It's 80 in this later month of winter,
this freaky temperature is strange;
I wear a t-shirt and my hiking shorts,
out here -   out in this open range.

Sabino Canyon is a place majestic,
reminding me of why I love the West;
the sky, a vast and huge umbrella,
the splendid canyon, takes care of all the rest.

When the  light came to the world,
the people knew Him not;
until the blind and deaf were healed,
they knew not what they sought.

Until the lepers skin was cleansed,
and Lazarus was raised;
until the miracles occurred,
was He ever praised.

Until the crowd, they followed Him,
did the Pharisees run scared;
and plotted then to **** Him,
and whip His body bared.

They nailed Him to the cross to die,
all part of God's great plan;
He died for all the sinners,
but they didn't understand.

A perfect sacrifice was he,
to shed His blood for all;
He paved the way for man,
so they could heed His call.

And the darkness never knew Him,
because His light did shine;
giving life to others,
in this present time.

If we turn away from Him,
He will not turn toward us;
we bear the burden of the flesh,
we cheat, we lie, we lust.

If we say His name aloud,
then he'll mark us as His own;
who dwell on truth and God,
who's praises we have sown.

We keep the ten commandments,
and sing His name on high;
kneel daily in our prayer to Him,
and on angels wings we fly.

His truth is Love and righteousness,
there's great mercy in His breath;
he will shelter us in life,
and honor us in death.

He is the King of Kings,
His blessings, all, are good;
His name means our Salvation,
through peace and brotherhood.

The bench I rest on,
is not fully in the sun;
but today is rather mild,
and my walk is nearly done.

The quiet is a stranger,
the traffic's almost nil;
no breeze to stir the air,
the pace of life is still.

Bill William's peak is to the north,
a mountain man of years ago;
the hills of Prescott to the south,
bask in the morning's glow.

In 5,000 feet of altitude,
I am parked upon this bench;
reflecting on life's journey,
and its sometime monkey wrench.

I note that I am satisfied with love,
daily walks; music and good books;
my mind contains glad memories,
of life's ever-changing looks.

Engaged in quiet conversation,
I asked how you had been;
you looked truly marvelous,
so nice to see you once again.

How were the kids and hubby?
you showed a picture from your purse;
then said you were divorced,
but things could be much worse.

He gave you pain and alimony,
but not amenability;
on how to raise the children,
on that he'd disagreed.

But you had to leave or wither,
your fruit was dying on the vine;
and when you asked for peace,
he said he didn't have the time.

Is there something I could do I asked,
to smooth out this bad news?
you've already helped she said,
it was nice of you to schmooze.

You don't know me,

please, don't pretend you do;

I was a nothing to you...

just someone to *****.

Now I'm just discarded,

thrown away, like trash;

something soon forgotten,

like an irritating rash.

Like a candy wrapper, crushed,

like some stuff just thrown aside;

why leave me sad and naked,

with no safe place to hide?

You were never faithful,

you were never kind;

you were always trouble,

it seems I've lost my mind.

Don't pretend you know me,

stow it with your other lies;

ignore the plaintive wailing,

laugh at the futile cries.

When I didn't know the seasons
when time to me was nil
everything was innocence
no sense of time to ****;
I finally learned of Spring
and the promises of love
that wafted down from heaven
and bright-lit skies above;
Then Summer came along
with marriage, jobs and kids
music, friends and laughter
just before I hit the skids;
Suddenly came Autumn
beautiful… serene…
scarred by circumstances
that erased my dreams;
Now- in the throes of Winter
I've accepted my true fate
ready to renew...once more
once more, to clean the slate

Such a grand and glorious morning!
The air fresh and invigorating, I
want to "bottle it" and preserve it
forever;
Such days are far-between and fleeting,
the touch of spring, the lived-for-
weather.
Relish it, before it fades away,
when hot and muggy days appear;
then, hope that Autumn comes,
and soon - the cooler evenings near.
But then comes days, of gray and
chilly mornings,
when icicles from in your nose;
when brutal cold comes from the north,
and shatters your repose.
Seasons change more often than we think,
here one afternoon, then next day, gone;
the earth turns fiercely as we stand and speak,
the march of time... goes on and on.
And too soon, we fade, as does the setting sun,
knowing that the race, it soon will end;
we go, like changes in the ever-constant seasons,
wondering what awaits beyond the bend.

How splendid are your seasons Lord
that pass throughout the year
the varied times of changes
so subtle. yet so clear.
Spring comes with rain and wind
it brings forth gaudy flowers
blossomed by the sun
after each and every shower.
Summer comes with creeping heat
with sunny pleasant weather
endless days of lazy chores
without much thought or measure.
Autumn comes with colored trees
grand beauty on display
enchanted and engaging
in the coolness of its days.
Winter falls with quiet grace
snowflakes dancing down
the frost and cold come quickly
to lace the frozen ground.
The seasons come - the seasons go
according to God's plan
created by His power
and polished by His hand.

Do you want to live forever?
then in Him you must believe;
our flesh and bones will perish,
let the wounded heart not grieve.
The Spirit finds its way to God,
for God recalls His own creation;
and our death is temporary,
likened to a waiting station.
There will be a resurrection,
and we'll get a second chance;
to accept His sovereignty,
to be invited to His dance.
Then we'll be His great disciples,
with Love our first command;
sharing peace with other people,
it's part of His own perfect plan.
Flesh and blood are prone to sin,
in the Sprit lies salvation;
for every race and every one,
for every single nation.

I sit in the non-smoking section
of the restaurant. That's a laugh.
The smoke from your noxious
**** still finds me. It makes me ill.
I am going to ask you to extinguish
it, or else heave in your face. I'll
pursue the former but actually favor
the latter. I could just up and leave,
but that would be acceding victory
to the American Tobacco Industry-
and to you, the original Marlboro Man.
As politely as I am able, I walk over to
your table and ask you to put it out.
It's made me sick. You smirk and ask
me if I'm serious...the favored response
occurs.

I am a secret admirer,
of her beauty, sweet and fair;
from the glow of her lovely face,
to the curve of her cheek so bare.

I do not exist, not in her thoughts,
not in her world, not in her eyes;
I'm nothing in a world of naught,
and a sigh of inaudible sighs.

One day I'll have the treasure,
that my heart is longing to take;
one day she'll be at my side,
what a happy couple we'll make!

I will exist, both in her heart and mind,
then we'll share the world together;
the laughter, the tears, the joy,
then, we'll be happy beyond any measure.

Till then,  I'm a secret admirer,
of her beauty, sweet and fair;
the eyes that speak of enchantment,
and the cascade of her falling hair.

I saw you again last night,
you were with another man;
I turned around in flight,
I just couldn't understand.

Why you left in great distress,
with a note that left me blue;
I miss you so my darling,
when you wrote that -
we were through.

What happened to the dreams,
we had for you and me?
love just fell apart it seems,
were we so  blind we could not see?

What made you run away my dear?
was I so awfully bad?
now I'm left with only fear,
we've lost what we once had.

I saw you once again, tonight,
you were laughing and carefree;
I was standing, in dim light,
I guess you never noticed me.

We chase the ghosts of youth,
with glove and bat and ball;
running down the base-paths,
hoping we don't fall.

Like honey in slow motion,
we make our way to first;
panting... out of breath,
we hope our lungs don't burst.

If we're in the outfield,
we've "lost" the legs to run;
but it's the game we treasure,
it's mostly to have fun.

We laugh at our mistakes,
strikeouts and dropped flies;
it's but play... that we seek,
not self -regretted sighs.

Long gone, the grace of youth,
we muddle through the game;
and rest upon the off days,
tired... happy... lame.

September's child is special
born in autumn's gold;
brother to the pumpkin
sister to the cold.

September's child is lovely
the heart's in the right place;
born in the changing leaves
adorned with God's own grace.

September's child is full of love
for family and for friends;
granting each an honored spot
with love that never ends.

September's child is filled with life
for enjoying nature's touch;
relishing the autumn rains
not too little, nor too much.

September's child is special
between the heat and cold;
graced with special beauty
graced by autumn's gold.

A delightful walk at daybreak,
the air is fresh and cool;
clouds adorn the mountains,
and I am Nature's fool.

A hiker with a walker's stride,
I climb about with pleasure;
and gaze at distant visions,
whose lengths I cannot measure.

The breezes keep me well refreshed,
the quiet, grants me peace;
over old familiar trails,
whose beauty does not cease.

In grand September sunshine,
the month my soul was born;
I watch the dance of bowing grass,
on this fine autumn morn.

I tilt my head and drink the wind,
and I glance around the bend;
laughing with sweet regret,
that soon, the day must end.

Shall I tell you how it felt
when you left without a word?

It was like...
a door slammed in my face.

Safe in my Father's arms-
I'm sheltered from the rain;
sheltered from the sorrow,
that often masks as pain.
His hands reach out to hold me-
there's a strength within His touch;
and though the hurt still lingers,
it doesn't hurt as much.
I'm secure in His great truth-
the blessings He has given;
knowing He still loves me,
make me go on living.
When my anger has subsided-
when the guilt is finally gone;
when my life's been turned around,
then my new life, will go on.
Safe, in my Father's arms-
I'm sheltered from the winds;
embracing fresh beginnings,
with a love that never ends.

There's a ship of fools,
pulls into every port;
it's called the ship of love
(at my last report).

They disembark with eagerness
and roam the lonely shore;
unfulfilled and empty
they're always wanting more.

Rose-colored glasses they wear
optimistic and well wishing;
they seek the opposite ***
it's akin to fishing.

The lure, the line, the hook
if you get my meaning;
they're putting on the front
with clever, hopeful scheming.

The ship of fools is sailing
from wherever you can think;
on seas of expectant loving
with smiles and charms and winks.

It started with a scratchy throat,
then zapped my nose and eyes;
coughing, sneezing, wheezing,
and my mournful little cries.

Invaded by an unknown foe,
that gave me chills and shakes;
Yes, I tried the chicken soup,
and whatever else it takes.

Can't do things when you're sick,
my organs aren't bionic,
I sit stiffly in my chair,
very rigid;  catatonic.

My rhinitis is pathetic,
a sieve I cannot quell;
my eyes leak liquids too,
it's the truth -I feel like hell.

It could be due to weather;
perhaps some allergies;
but I am on the mending road,
whops-excuse me while I sneeze!

Silence is the sharpest sword of all,
for when it cuts you -
you'll not hear its fall.

Words cannot compare,
to cold silence;
its blank and hollow stare,
its muted violence.

Silence is the sharpest sword of all,
for you can't perceive its call;
it kills the thing that it loves best,
and puts all final things to rest.

All the love is silenced in one stroke,
all's been said and all's been done;
and life plays out its quiet joke,
underneath love's setting sun.

Silence is the sharpest sword of all,
for when it kills you,
you'll not hear its fall.

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.

Snow, pure and ****** white,
greeted me at dawn,
kissed me in the night.
took my breath away,
as I walked in frigid weather,
but left without a trace,
at noon that day.
Snow was diamonds glittering,
in the sun's bright glare,
putting cold in second place,
with the beauty I did share.
Snow was God's white blanket,
sheltering the earth,
covering the treetops,
with its silent mirth.
Snow was winter's message,
of the approaching season;
of the turning of the new year,
for no specific reason,
other than the shifting,
of the planets quiet course,
with the guidance of God's hand,
as its origin and source.

The days are getting shorter
so am I
they fade into sunset sooner
dark grows the sky.
The beauty of October is almost gone
the colors all grow dim
the best is in the mind
full to the brim.
Just for a time, you came
to brighten up the day
with cool and crisp of perfume
we always knew you could not stay.
Soon, the winter shows its face
cold and frosty flakes of snow
come floating down like cotton *****
the season is too long, I know.
Seasons of my life are passing quickly
an avalanche of time goes by
time speeds up with advancing age
everything grows older
so do I.

Don't show me no recliner,
stop the chatter and the talking;
let me lace my hiking boots,
and let me be off -  walking.

East of the burning sun,
where a shadow's just a friend;
where I can see for miles and miles,
where the roads - they never end.

Where the mountains rise above me,
where the ridgeline's edge is high;
where horizons fade in silence,
and above me - only sky.

There's a solace in this desert place,
soft peace,  that fills the soul;
that gives me satisfaction,
where nothing is my goal.

Just a sense of new found freedom,
like a wandering vagabond;
at one, with all of nature,
my feet and heart respond.

Where breezes are a-blowing,
'tis there,  that I'll be going,
high in the pines, still green,
viewing places seldom seen;
In the fresh and fragrant air,
hiking sure, without much care,
I revel in the silence,  grand,
with only God to take my hand.
The wind caresses every tree,
blows clouds away so I can see,
the brilliance of the sun so bright,
it magnifies my squinted sight.
The leaves are rustled, with no sound,
here,  the soul at rest is found,
the troubled world lies far below,
and peace just like a river,  flows.
Here,  I find the breezes blowing,
here,  I find contentment, knowing,
that nature soothes the savage breast,
and sometimes... solitude is best.

Solitary hiker, trudging up the slopes,
breath quickened by the angle;
hallway up, I spot a rock, sit, and
let my legs below me, dangle.

Take in the valley, far below,
that lingers lovely in my gaze;
through mist-filled clouds,
and scattered haze.

I find my pulse on my carotid,
the big artery on my neck;
it's bounding and it's fast,
but I continue, on my trek.

I slow the pace with measured gait,
granny steps and slow walking;
nearing now the summit's crest,
my hips and legs do all the balking.

Solitary walker, his face now in the clouds,
congratulates himself at last;
looks out into the far horizons,
out to the mountains of his past.

Climbing hills is my pleasant pastime,
one with nature, one with sky and sea;
meditation on the wings of solitude,
is but little, but quite enough, for me.
Raindrops falling, pose no problem,
it's a reprieve, from all the drought;
I lift up my face to catch the drops,
there's life in rain, I have little doubt.
For today,  it's just a wayward cloud,
but it leaves me feeling nice and fresh;
above me, the darkness moves away,
going to the mountaintop, to mesh.
Far below, the shadows start to gather,
the sun recedes, becomes a molten ball;
in the distance, there's a purple curtain,
as once again, the rain begins to fall.
There is silence, sweet as the sunshine,
that in this special place,  is found;
I turn,  and head back to the world,
resistant and reluctant, to go down.

Unexpected rain falls softly
on the arid ground I walk
glistening in the shadows
of the twisted weedy stalk.
Clouds drifted like a shroud
somber, gray and creeping
like wandering ghosts in fog
silent -   wispy -   weeping.
The coolness of the morning
embraced my face with pleasure
it kissed my cheek and brow
like a momentary treasure.
How sweet the breath of life
in 45 minutes of walking
no traffic and no noise at all
nothing marred by talking.
Unexpected rain fell softly
tickled my nose round every bend
as I left the trail of cottonwood trees
and finished at its end.

So long to love
it's too **** complicated
and simply over-rated
so goodbye to love.

Adieu to all the romance
the showiness and song
goodbye to false embraces
that lasted way too long.

Farewell to hugs and kisses
that end right at the door
send it on its way
I've been there before.

Close the door on arguments
that flare for no **** reason
for no good explanation
must be the angry season.

So long to love
I'm always the wrong mate
goodbye to love
it seems to be my fate.

If we could cry, like women.
we  might be better off;
if we had the sensitivity,
instead, we'd rather scoff.

Macho pride goes quickly south,
fighting does not solve things;
there's always someone bigger,
faster - in what another foe brings.

Honey gets - what anger doesn't,
a compromise,   and peace;
wrath just clouds the issues,
the fighting does not cease.

Masculinity, is vastly over-rated,
the tree that bends stays well;
don't give way to power,
that creates a living hell.

If we could shed some tears,
are we any less a man?
I think were better for it,
let us try to understand.

Some night, I'll stay awake,
to hear the coyotes howl;
listening in the dark,
to nightly creatures prowl.
One day, I'll sail away,
to a far and distant land;
and ponder in my dreams,
God's great and awesome plan.
I've always been a dreamer,
a traveler in my mind;
escaping life's illusions,
to see what I would find.
Always searching, always seeking,
for unexpected treasure;
a vagabond of sorts,
in which I take my pleasure.
Some night, I'll board that ship,
from where there's no return;
on that mystery boat of death,
where I'll live again...or burn.

Someplace down the road
Lord Jesus waits for me
He's counting I show up
for His truth has set me free;
He's the prime example
we must follow in His way
He'll give us the strength
to get us through the day.
Someplace down the road
I'll run into my Savoir
His words are full of love
It's Him that we must favor;
by faith and our endurance
we can overcome our trials
changing frowns to grins
changing scowls to smiles.
Someplace down the road
I'll be a resurrected soul
replacing flesh with Spirit
then -  becoming whole.

What is this song today?
that I hear in my head;
that implants memory,
that to my mind does wed.

It's the song of Nature singing,
with eagles flying high;
with clouds a-swirl in heaven
in thunder's mighty cry.

It's the sound of lovers laughing,
from the scent of some sweet vine;
that invigorates the senses,
and stirs the docile mind.

It's the song of tearful joy,
when the music is just right;
the comfort of a peaceful sleep,
that takes us through the night.

That's the song I hear today,
that's the song that never ends;
that's the sound that heaven loves,
the music that God sends.

Mary Magdalene followed Jesus
seven devils in her past
but Jesus blessed her heart
and His blessings always last.
She came to His tomb with spices
to anoint His sainted head
but he was risen and gone
raised from His fleshly dead.
As a spirit, to his Father in heaven
to sit at His right hand
to await His earthly return
so we might understand.
To judge the righteous and wicked
to rule with an iron hand
to correct our carnal mistakes
so we might understand.
To establish His heavenly kingdom
all part of salvation's plan
to give us all life eternal
so we might understand.

The spirit of man is war
the spirit of God is peace
man's wars continue
in God's world, they cease...

The spirit of man is pride
the spirit of God is humble
pride is the curse of man
in God's world, it crumbles...

The spirit of man is hateful
God's spirit is that of Love
man's world is the earth
God's world is above...

The spirit of man is lies
the spirit of God is truth
man's ways are evil
God's way are couth...

The spirit of man knows failure
the spirit of God, does not
man's education is nothing
unless, by God he's been taught.

Let me climb a lonely peak,
where no other feet have gone -
to soothe the savage breast,
as I hike along;
To still my anxious soul,
to meditate on high -
to be where eagles soar,
where I can hear their cry;
Take me to the sites,
that can take one's breath away -
for an hour, for a moment,
let this solitude but stay;
Where horizons never end,
only vision fades from sight -
when the shadows of the evening,
takes from view, the blazing light.
Let me rest upon a ledge,
from a cliff upon a peak -
to relish in my spirit-force,
the words I cannot speak.

the world's in spiritual darkness
black shadows cover the land;
the world's dissolving before us
it wasn't part of God's plan.

It started with breakup of family
and putting God's word aside;
saying abortion's all right
filling our thoughts with pride.

Allowing all rules to be broken
putting money above all the rest;
thinking that we can fix problems
thinking that our way's the best.

Now our great nation's declining
seems like nobody's too concerned;
that we've forgotten our morals
and the values that once we learned.

The world's in spiritual darkness
God's light...it can't shine through;
now we're fading into oblivion
from things that we once knew.

Evening comes much later
than the day before
as Spring waits for her
time on stage
winter drags her heels and
leaves in snow filled rage.
Can you feel excitement in the air?
is your step a little faster?
it's the season of becoming
what you are seeking after.
The air is crisp and clear
the daytime's getting longer
and you feel the sap return
your body's getting stronger.
Anticipate the morning
the positive just flows
you meet up with a lover
the love, it grows and grows.
Who doesn't like the Spring?
you'd have to be a fool
to not like Spring's parade
when love itself does rule.

The wind is ever constant,
in subtle waves, it moves;
it's felt and yet unseen,
invisible, breezy grooves.

Magic fingers in the air,
weaves its tapestry;
quite refreshing to the face,
that knows but does not see.

The air is sweet in Springtime,
the kiss of genesis;
beginning every March,
ending in June's bliss.

Weep not for winter's death,
embrace instead the Spring;
that quickens every step,
in what the season brings.

The hint of love in blossom,
the touch of day-time showers;
the scent of perfume in the air,
from sunny, blooming flowers.

Sniveling was never part of my plan
it was getting snarky, getting out of hand;
but Springtime's is but a fickle friend
and in time, it all will surely end.
I had to get a shot to knock it out
rather than to let it drip and pout;
there was too much weeping of the eyes
too much sneezing, amongst the sighs.
Too much blossoming and blooming
too many juniper trees looming.
I fought it till I finally gave in
to put up with it any more would be a sin;
aggravation and suffering was misery
I was determined to not let it get the best of me.
A Kenalog shot brought me great relief
and at last, I freed myself m from needless grief;
until next year, when Spring comes around once more
and I am faced with it again, the thing that I abhor.

Cotton floating on the breeze,
falling gently in the air;
against the green of giant trees,
in skies so blue and bare.
No clouds to spoil the view,
just contrails passing by;
on a morn that's fresh and new,
with scenes that make you sigh.
Like snowflakes sown in May,
they flutter to the ground;
the leaves, in splendor, sway,
yet they make no sound.
The spores are fluffy...white,
they dance within the wind;
it's a spring time magic sight,
around each pathway's bend.
Walks like these, you treasure,
in the mind and in the soul;
the type we cannot measure,
but ones that make us whole.

Stay?
For whom, for what?
No way!

They have stolen Your identity
preaching false news of the gospel
made up stories of their own
of things that are not right;
by the works of Satan,
the devil himself,
the prince of darkness -
who loves the cloak of night.
Making the day of sun as worship
saying Easter instead of Passover
turning Christmas into profit
saying He (Christ) was born that day;
if you look into His word
you see that's it's absurd;
He was Autumn's child
not in the winter, no way.
Man pursues the world
with traditions of his own
unaware of who it is
that sits upon the throne.
False teachers teaching lies
they truly are deceived;
and God looks down and laughs
though He is much aggrieved.

In Your Word Lord, I gather strength,
to face ahead, the days of wrath;
to surmount my daily problems,
to stay on, the righteous path.
When the nights, all seem too long,
when the sadness shakes the mind;
in Your song, I am protected,
in You, such happiness I find.
I praise Your name, up to the heavens,
where in angel's fields, You are;
ask for forgiveness and for mercy,
in the atmosphere of stars.
Pray that You, will always guide me,
on all roads that lead to life;
ease my trouble thoughts; and
see me past the world of strife.
In Your Word Lord, I seek peace,
that no one understands, but me;
only others, in Your shelter,
can see the treasure, that I see.