I Can't wait for the buds to return to the trees snowdrops and daffodils and the warmth of the sun Birds returning back here from Africa to sing their morning wake up call to build their nests to raise feed their young oh how I long for the returning summer to put away the winter clothes For now, I'll sleep away the winter days to wake again on that beautiful first spring morning
Awaiting the buds to reappear the trees snow drops daffodils the first day of spring birds singing their wake up call
A single pen could make a library, setting every book apart. It can fill a museum, creating inky works of art. One pen may right the most important letter, to a lover far away. A pen signed in our country’s will, forever here to stay. Ink inscribed the world’s religions, from the devil and the divine. Preserved our children’s fairytales, some cruel and some kind Still calculating answers to the unknown, we can only hope to be right And sketched plans for the planes that helped us take flight A pen wrote this poem, this poet now shares with you Who hands you a pen, so what will you do?
Recently I tell myself I'm putting this love on hold It sounds easier than giving up Or moving on from a love untold It sounds indefinite yet not I'm neither trapped or controlled To stay or leave when parts of me Are still divided to uphold If in 10 years I still love you Or forget this love I know I hope to be content, in love To wherever this heart may go
How do I find it? the way home seems so hard. walk over mountains, hope the mountains won't collapse. what day is today? the day I meet my chance... the chances are, I don't know how far I can walk
I know the trees talk the trees talk they call my name so clear and proud what do they say when I'm not around?
Find me a willow tree so I can rest my head when the morning breaks hope to find my bed instead what day is today? the day I find my place but the chances are, I don't know how far I can walk
I know the trees talk the trees talk I wonder if they'll answer if I ask Don't leave here fruits may be poison don't leave me here the way home is what I seek Find me a house with the lights on with the food warm with the bed firm Find me a house with the clock on compass north So I can find my way home.
I just wanted to talk to someone But I never seemed to get the chance to So I began to write; make the time stop But I didn’t want it to be poetic Or imaginative I didn’t want another person to hear me I just wanted someone to finally listen Are you listening? I am talking to you.