Where the sweet clover grows
On the hill past the stream,
Many hours are spent
Beneath the shade of trees
Writing poetry in spring.

Live life today, right now,
for tomorrow is all unknown.

At times I feel alone,
Asking myself the ways of
the world.
They tell me I'm crazy, my
words meaningless.
Slowing I'm believing them
Inside I'm turning into a wreck,
Outside I'm nervously laughing
to hide my consuming panic...
Am I mad or just simply mad?

Blessings are gems which
make the recipient grateful.
Count them.