my lady tells me
"its only winter time"
but she's not found the secret
or found that special line.
sweet surrender is what she knows,
but color me gone:
when it starts to snow.

is the inscription on
the tombstone where he lies,
Dead he is not, but

departed,
the poet never dies.

Man is the only animal that blushes,
or needs to.

his passion still to
covet general praise,
his life he forfeits
in a thousand ways.

with flat regard
our paths are chosen
but it gets hard.
to see the rocks
and barren ground.
we wait some more
for natures mounds.

we see it working,
its every day
the global warming is here to stay
resorts are stymied
they lost their way,
cram the riders
to earn their pay.
what's the answer? please do tell,
or are we slipping into  hello
everybody do your part,
try a solution that's really smart.

want to write a song so fine?
start to write and make it rhyme.
Give a listen to the songs of past,
you just may see their path at last.