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Excuse me Mr. Robin , pardon my interruption , I was wondering with you being so busy if Winter had finally run it's course ? If you had met your Spring lover , working the ground cover for twigs and little what -nots , building a sturdy home for nestlings to hatch and grow in the coming months ?
Mr. Bluebird was far too busy to entertain any such questions , his blushing bride was tweeting directions , every little leaf had to be just so , working studiously on a birdhouse we built the year before ..
Mr. Robin .. If your too connected with work I totally understand , I'll be on the porch enjoying the weather with visions of April in my head ! If you should find yourself in a quandary don't hesitate to come calling ,
knock three times and wait a few seconds so I won't confuse you with  
my old buddy the Woodpecker !!
Copyright February 15, 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

# 500 poems since the middle of September '15 --A million more in my head !
 Jun 2015 murphis bleek
I can
 Jun 2015 murphis bleek
I can do it all, I can be the one
I can be the son to a father, a father to a son.
I can be the bullets to the gun, the clouds to the sun,
The solos just begun, so while you still can, run.

I can lead the way, I can be the say,
I can do the pay, the only leader to your play,
I can be okay, mask it with my bouquet day by day
I'm the one who slays, you stay and pray I'll be safe within the prey

I'm astray, I'm lost, you're blocking my way,
I'm left outcast here, a needle in the hay,
Now stop, replay and look back at the days,
Where you did the same, hey look it's starting again, touché.
Just free flowed for fun
Shock to my heart,
Torn all apart,
Still, I can't see,
A better place to be.

Won't somebody come
And save me from myself.
Won't somebody come,
I can't make it by myself.

Trapped by my fears
In my waisted years.
I've searched my soul to find
Some sense of peace of mind.

Won't somebody come
And save me from myself.
Won't sombedy come
I can't make it by myself.

All, all alone.
Never to feel at home.
Why do I feel this way?
Make it all go away...

search on,
for something I won't own
Search, I'm searching on
I'm searching on.
another set of lyrics I wrote in 1998 on an accustic guitar I bought. I  was feeling very Lyndsy Buckingham. I don't think my work in these days was very good, but it came from a raw place. Obviously, I survived all that aingst and fear.
I'm writing this for you,
Flower thief. It's funny,
I told myself I'd never
Let it happen again, but I
Can only assume that I'm
The petal that falls once
You've clipped the stem.
Not to worry, my friend.
The breeze is quite beautiful
At such a day's quiet end.
You bring out this weird thing inside me
      Something I haven't experienced before
            It bubbles up like dish soap in a sink
     & then it pours over the sides every time
            I hear your laugh

             When you tell me something nice,
                    you don't understand how little I get it
             & it makes me smile for more than seconds,
       but minutes, hours, days, every time
             I hear your voice

             You held my hand differently than others
      Like you had something to say with your fingers,
maybe a story about how well they fit entangled
      with one another's or a short love story every time
            I feel your touch

"So will you go to prom with me," you asked me,
       so casually, but I didn't need anything big or more
              like I thought I wanted because that all changed
       as soon as I met you & fell for your charm every time
             *I see you
Why did I have to meet you...

— The End —