The old and the diseased have fallen
They're moving forward , on a carpet of needles
I lay among seedlings and sage grass ,
among the dead , among winter hay
In the throes of death , at the windy command ,
broken and bereft along the malignant forest I lay
Commanded by time do I lay
Bound for new birth woodland to lie in wait ,
Content , I will lay**–– ...

One drop of blood from the occasional briar ,
A sprinkle of late morning dew mingled with foraging sweat , a touch of sunburn mixed with one hundred percent desire for a summer treat that's heaven sent* ...

Who proctored the marriage
of water and shore , filled
the morn with songbirds of
every color , placed top water dancers , filled the murky depths with
magic and romance , aligned the trees
along her shining banks just so ,
adjusted her loving tributaries , calculated
their timely flow , created crawfish , shell ******* ,
rock bass and channel cat ,
pink and blue flowers , otter and muskrat
Who drew men into blue eyes , focused their
gaze into March sky , placed their naked feet
in her cool dominion , created a love never ending* ...

Thoughts and rain wile
away the night
Lightning blue shrouds
a lonely eastern March sky
Guitars and tea , bugs collecting
on a porch light , a whippoorwill
sighs , an barn owl begins to cry , the
brown bats have now come alive ,
the hummers will return , the garden
will soon need seeding , green grass
and sunshine will once again meet ,
children will return to the street ,
for the March winter is fleeting* ...

There will always be a storm to reckon with
Beware of things marked new and improved
Wear earplugs at work and work like a mule , friends are like buying a bag of potato chips , they're normally only half full
Sometimes being alone is perfectly right
Stars change their positions during the night so
pray for the path by the light , defend your house with
all your might , remember love is a lone star shining bright
Avoid cliques , their like swimming with a bag of bricks
Leave church at church and work at work
Build a fence and build it right , keeps men honest in the dead
of night* ...

We're beautiful fools
For the true religion is love prophesied
by countless messengers* ...

Night of copious moonlight ,
of star shine , of clapping
pines , of Perseus shooting
arrows over Alabama , of a thousand
jet planes approaching Atlanta
Silver highways and moonlit tracks ,
big cities and rural shacks , cattle ponds
and flickering streams , front porches
with checkerboards , maple rockers and
jiggers of good Jim Beam* ....