Drifting in the air,
Where do they go? I know not where.
Soaring way up high,
Flying beautifully near the fluffy white clouds in the royal blue sky!

Floating lazily above the earth,
This is no mirth!
This is imagination,
And my own creation!

Way above the trees,
Flying in the cool breeze!
Till you land in the creek at the end of day,
Deflated there you lay!

Yet there are other balloons floating in the sky,
You were my favorite of all balloons soaring high!
We can blow you up again,
And watch you float up high and win!

*~Marian~

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mounatin walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Alfred Lord Tennyson   **1809--1892

The sun decending in the west,
The evening star does shine,
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower,
In Heaven's high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.

William Blake  *1757--1827

The test is a precaution
The doctor thinks it wise.
Is there something that he knows?
I try to read his eyes.

Fourteen days of agony,
The world's not like before,
Things that used to bother me
Don't matter any more.

I think of what might happen.
Could I be near the end?
Don't want to scare my loved ones,
And so I just pretend.

Now the fateful time has come,
The call is very brief,
My test results are negative.
I shed tears of relief.

in the early morning dark
before the sun appears
I look upon your sleeping face
and contemplate the years

years of love and laughter
of sorrow and of sadness
years we’ll spend together
years we'll miss in madness

years we'll spend with family
years we'll spend with friends
of things that we'll share daily
some we'll never share again

I can almost

smell the fresh cut grass
hear the laughter of our son
hear the crack as he swings the bat
taste the ice-cream when he’s done

feel the softness of our daughters hair
see the beauty in her smile
taste the tears that I'm sure to cry
as I walk her down the aisle

feel the warmth in your wrinkled hand
see the silver in your hair
hear the crickets sing in our back yard
as we dance in the night air

in the early morning dark
before the sun appears
I look upon your sleeping face
and contemplate the years