Beulah gave out Blossoms this spring As big as sunflower heads. They entwined the branches Like the ribbon enclosing an expectant shower gift. It's fragrance was the extract Of an unbottled aroma That is the Magnolia tree. I rooted her in the yard Four years ago. She is iridescent for a brief time Past mid Spring. She has many Springs to go Above the green growth below; Many seasons beneth The blue Summer skies above; During the Autums ahead, When I am dead, And colder than Winter snows Below her; She will be there. Rooted with care.
I scanned the old man Through my translucent curtain. He stood before my door, hand raised, Seeming ready to knock. Wires ran into his large ears; His waddle swayed over his crew neck, Beneath a brown corduroy jacket. Liver spots crowned his wispy head, And the back of his hand. He listed and bobbed Like a Huron laker waiting to unload. He had a distinct and not unfamiliar look; A man with full faculties. I opened the door to him, But he said, "It's not time." "Time?" I asked. "To let me in."
I have today grown old. I was never told, Make every day count. I counted days, Missed some years, My advice may fall on deaf ears To those who know how to live their lives. Everyday. Everyway. It's not easy. I recognize the mantle On my children's faces; See them counting milestones, Running theirs through the paces. How do I tell them Count every day, and not count every day; But make every day count?
the path you stumbled for, left you for some footsteps of a goddess that we never were sure of her existence.
He left you on the road oh, beautiful landscape of all such green trees, such brown leaves. Do you wonder how I wonder? wanderlust, collecting dust of the wasted decades we had of an item we never truly got to reckon it's form I do not believe in time it does not exist break all hour glasses done.
Years ago, More like lifetimes, I was better Than most anyone In any sport. A champion. I was very good, Better than most anybody In my education, with family, Had two closest pals. I had cars, motorcycles, Clothes, girls. I always had the better part Of a North American middle class life. Today, I'm elated To be one of most anybody.
We convened a conclave Where the famiglia Was casting sideways looks, Keeping secrets from survivors. Papa had passed, His mantle drapping the remains. And a day looms for its passing To an unelected recipient From the unresponsive benefactor. Dirges were played. Outside I lit a cigarette And the cloud of smoke rose skyward. The ballots have been counted.