On a long stretch of highway
his thumb to the road,
Leon set off to lighten his load.
No thoughts of tomorrow
no plans set in stone
just a few hundred bucks,
and a dream of his own.

Leon was weary of playing the game.
His boss and his girl,
they both thought the same.
Their griping and wanting
was keeping him tied
to a life that he loathed,
left him weary inside.

He would act on an impulse,
and finally be free
to do as he liked, and be who he'd be.
A fantasy stirring could finally come true!
No end to the wonderful things he could do.

For hours he walked,
while the headlights flashed by
light on his feet and a smile to the sky.
While on that same blacktop
Jenny drove on
anxious to make it to Phoenix by dawn.

It may have been fate or say what you will
that she spied him on time
as she came up the hill.
Surely this guy must be needing a ride
so she pulled to the shoulder,
letting Leon inside.

Jenny felt guarded while driving along,
not accustomed to helping who didn't belong
in the world that she lived,
and the life that she led,
ain't it funny how sometimes we do what we dread?

Her worries subsided in such a short while,
for he talked with such ease.
He had such a nice smile!
It's true what they say,
you just never know
who you might meet if you give it a go.

Just outside Phoenix the sun started rising
when Leon said "Jenny, ain't it surprising?
I feel like I've known you my entire life."
The last words she heard,
as he pulled out his knife.

Ain't it funny how sometimes we do what we dread?
Leon's still dreaming,
while Jenny lies dead.



.

I come from sunlight,
      The sweeping of leaves,
      South London streets,
      Lurburnum seeds;
      Hot semolina,
      A spoonful of jam,
      Hands full of gooseberries,
      That's who I am.

      I come from rose petals,
      The sound of the fairs,
      The smell of candyfloss
      Mist in the air;
      I come from warmth,
      My parents hands,
      Outings to parks,
      Both small and grand.

     I come from knowledge,
     True and false,
     From nursery rhymes,
     And stories and pictures of God;
     I come from gentleness,
     A quiet afternoon,
     From visions of loveliness,
     Sewn on a spool.

    I come from two worlds,
    With different ways,
    A threaded pearl necklace,
    And sensible soles
    A mother and father,
    I think I knew,
    I came and I wandered,
    I looked at the view.

       By Mary **

This girl I know
She is just ... like a book.

Her cover is so beautiful
And yet ... forever changing looks.

But this girl's beauty
Is unlike any that you've seen.

It really comes from all those pages
Those pages in between.

Each page tells a story
Some of sorrow oh so sad.

But for every one of those that you read
You'll find one of better time's she's had.

This girl I know
She rules a realm that no one ever see's.

This girl will never show it to you
And she will never show it to me.

This girl is tough
And dauntless and strong.

This girl she sings
The most beautiful songs.

This girl will never let you see her cry.

This girl will never answer you why.

This girl she doesn't need wings to fly.

Because this girl ... She is the sky.

You will find her overhead
Every day and every night.

Her sun will warm the hardest heart
And her stars they shine so bright.

If you should ever catch her and open that book
You'd better read as fast as you can.

Standing still in any one place
Is never in her plans.

But, this girl I know isn't running from something
And it's not that she's some bird on a wire.

She isn't blindly running through time, you see
This girl I know ... She has a world to set on fire.

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.