I was never born to be great;
I never believed it was my fate.
Not like the Beatles,
Who wrote the songs
That live with us all life long.
I wasn't here to invent
A vaccine to prevent laments,
Or destroy dementia,
Or unveil the answer
That cancels cancer.
I'm not up on investments
That provide the cash to crash hunger,
Or house the homeless and usurp anger.
No I'm not a man of wonder.
Yet, if you ask someone who knows me,
A child of mine, for one,
They'll correct my every regret,
And might say I was all these.

From here, four thousand feet down
The Rocky Mountain Range
As winter subsides and spring begins
Purples and whites among the forest, up there, from here
My shaded porch by a hundred years old ash
I see where I once was, high above.

From here, as the tick, toc, tick, toc
Snuck through the air of time
As the children lost their wonder
The fancy climbing, the hold on tight
Of a tree swing dangled, beckoned
Them. They lost their spark
From here at this distance I see it all stuffed in the dirt of time.

A child doesn't judge,
A child isn't double-faced.
A child tells the truth
Without disguise.

A child is fascinated
By the smallest wonders.
It sees magic in the stars,
The tiny bug on the flower,
And a face in the clouds.

A child starts to dance
When the music plays,
Doesn't care about
What others think.
Draws the sun in the corner
With a smiling face,
Waves to planes passing by,
And cries when it's scared.

A child is the only human
Living almost free.
That is why we should try
To be a little more like a child.

I write this poem
For three to see
for two to like  
and the one who will lie awake is me

I work and toil and pick my brain
for the right words to fall to the page
for only you to see
my pretty words and not my tear stained face
behind the screen

My works Ive raised up from sprouted seeds
Now live on digital pages,
srcolled past, theyll be.

My writing was meant to live on beautiful pages
That will bring the love of writing to new ages
of children and dreamers, soñadores ,
with stories to tell

But for now,
three people will see them
two people will like them
and I am the one lying awake at night
full of unrealized dreams.

I taught children to write cursive.
And how to drive a stick.
In fact, they learned all my baby boomer tricks,
Like reading, walking, talking.
They learned about winning, and all about losing, with dignity.
They learned about friendship, loyalty, honour, trust,
And perseverence.
They learned that truth, as hard as it might be, was ok.
These cannot be discarded.

And yet, today's child is not for these times.
They are time travellers.