A patch, a thicket, a place I can write
On this broken ground I tread all night
A place I can hide, escape from my plight
A patch, a thicket, a place I can write

A patch, a thicket, a place I can sing
And throughout these woods, my voice will ring
O'er hill and dale, to crystal springs
A patch, a thicket, a place I can sing

A patch, a thicket, a place I can dance
And if you can come, I'm extending the chance
To partake in merriment, sure to entrance
A patch, a thicket, a place I can dance

A patch, a thicket, a place I can see
And no one can find it, no one but me
I'll take you along, to be gay and free
A patch, a thicket, a place I can see

A patch, a thicket, a place I can lie
To catch up on lost hours of shut eye
A secret it holds, the secret is mine
A patch, a thicket, the place I will die

This tree has no life
Yet beneath it cold won't tread
Helped again by death

A snowflake's journey
Descended from a grey cloud
Struck by foot, shattered

Fish swim up-river
Fight to death to birth children
Spawn. Die. Float away

Betwixt the plains the river runs
Through hill and forest, beneath the sun
Where fauna stop to pray for drink
And rocks appeal their will to sink

Betwixt the mounts the river runs
The scars it cuts ne'er be undone
And though men try to place a fight
The river claims them all with might

Betwixt the towns the river flows
And some may follow wherever it goes
The start of a trout, the end of a snake
Yet the river kills not, nor does it make

Betwixt the states the river flows
In places straight, where others it bows
For all of the knowledge contained within
It can retain not, how it were to begin

Betwixt the nations the river can rush
The lands that it touches can't help but be lush
Blessing the many who bask in its essence
And swallowing those who scorn its presence

Betwixt the cliffs the river will rush
Surging on to its final gush
All of the effort the river expends
Knowing too well, too soon it will end

I spent much of my time going somewhere.  Always here or there, thinking a momentary stillness was time wasted
Hours of progress lost now equates to hundreds of miles down the road.  Much akin to origami
Delicately forming in the hands of a foolish youth at the craft table
Somewhere in the heart of the "Center For Kids With Split-And/Or-Poor Families"
Also known as YMCA Day Camp

One wrong fold when you start inevitably leads to your crane looking an awful lot less like an elegant bird
And an awful lot more like a crumpled and forgotten letter.  At any rate, I have gotten hung up in recent years
With trying to determine which wrong turns I took then and more importantly where I even think I'm headed now.
I've spent too many years watching trains go by and am realizing I'm still at the station where I doubt I want to be.
Why else would I be waiting for a train?