We ...
Are The Architects of Our Fate
we build the walls
all these gates
We construct solid walls
they take them down
let them fall
then look around
for Solid Ground
until it's found
I plant my feet

Take a seat
share a story
of honored Glory
My Father was a Carpenter
a Master Builder they would say
And I see his buildings
every day
Arts and craftsman
my kind of build
houses filled
engrossing skill
amazing will
holes were drilled
handhewn milled
beams
intricate details

imparted to me
you can see
by carving
wooden
weathered
leather hands

It's good to admire
though I do not aspire
to live in one now

I miss the farm
in  simple charms
A time exsist my  memories

Queen Abigail of Chelsea
a border collie
she was our dog
Willamina a hog
or the name of a pig
rooting earth she'd happily dig
a silly gig
She never was a meal
Her funny squeal
Saved her life

had a horse  named Cochise
no wool from lamb
that we could fleece
you could not ride
but would stand on hind
legs
and beg
for marshmallows!

I miss the Farm
all the time
it taught me
life is worth living
to keep on giving
what I can.


Cherie Nolan © 2016