(War Time)

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

Throughout my life I've pledged to make you mine.
As if, by wish, this vow would then come true.
So, would I practice words of pretty rhyme,
and, with my heart, would offer them to you.
Oh, how I wish myself to be a poem;
To enter through your eyes into your heart.
For it is there I wish to make my home.
I cannot bear that we should ever part.
But sometimes, when I search to see your face;
I, startled, see you looking back at me!
Could God, in kindness, spare a gift of grace;
or does He smile on simple fools as we?

Still, artfully I do the things I do.
The world might sing if I could speak to you.

A poem's worth is in the rhyme
It's in the flow
and in the time
It's in the beat
One of a kind
But most of all it's in the mind

Gentle is the heart that weeps
Mournful is the soul that yearns
Gorgeous is the memory that lingers
Joyful were the hands that held
You

Imagine a world,
Of golden trees,
With purple skies,
and turquoises leaves.

See the fields,
Of silver grass,
Where an amber river,
Will slowly pass.

Imagine clouds,
Of diamond blue,
That cover stars,
That hang askew.

See a creature,
With emerald eyes,
Sapphire fur,
And large in size.

The world you see,
Could it be mine?
A world where you,
And I design.