Is the day perfect  
if there are no birds to wake you  
but there is lemonade?  

or if you live on Lemonade Street  
but there are no birds on electric lines  
because the utilities are underground.  

no birds twittering in trees  
just the sweet sour taste  
of lemonade puckering your mouth  

the scent of bonnie braes in the air,  
standing still in a pitcher of ice water,  
tangy, acidy,  
still sweeter than most.  

My neighbor,  
who is always preening and  
chatting up the neighbors,  
makes hers with bubble gum bursts and *****,  
a lemon drop of punch drunk love.  

If I want birds and trees  
I just walk across the street  
to the older neighborhood with telephone poles—  
some line birds,  
but mostly garden gnomes and bird baths.  

My dog delights in yanking me there,  
scattering the conferences  
of cardinals and jays in mid song  
from worm feast  
to the trees.  

Here, old men and women  
in shorts and summer dresses,  
holding citron nectar  
in tall glasses with seeds, rind and pulp,  
delight in their perfect day  
filled with lemonade and birds.  

I don’t know anymore  
if they are thrilled with the trill  
or fed up with the cacophony  
of untuned bird calls,  
birds in all the trees where they belong,  
silent at night.  

Deep in the forest  
filled with leaves,  
I suppose their diamond-throated song  
is a mournful dirge  
for when a tree falls  
silently, deadly in the green.  

One day our small community saplings  
will bloom,  
and the days will be filled  
with the miracle of birdsong  
and drinking lemonade  
on Lemonade Street.

Room temp black tea,
Jingling house keys,
Little whispers of morning trees.

Quaint feeling of tranquility,
Walking among the preserved fall leaves,
A small nip of chill in the breeze.

In this life, I have had my struggles—
Mankind’s abuse, intolerance, wars, and corruption.
And no different were the personal aspects:
love, home, happiness—
All fleeting, no peace, within or external.

Then, I found you.

At first, I sought tranquility—
An ear to bend, a friendship perhaps.
Yet, you needed serenity, a peace within.
So, it was I who lent the ear, the shoulder, the words of understanding.

In this endeavor, I saw in you a trampled blossom—
Damaged, bent, a bit broken, but not a loss.
You just needed someone, anyone, to care,
To show you the light through the dark.

So, I listened, I nurtured,
Shown light, provided warmth,
Fed you, and caressed the soil with tears,
Until you felt whole again.

To be clear, I didn’t fix you;
I didn’t mold you.
You were whole, you were full of worth.
I only let you see what I see in you.

In turn, you saw me, as I saw you—
Someone discarded on the refuse of life.
Imparted, nay, reciprocated, the kindness you had received,
Knowing that I, like you, lay scarred and injured, but not a loss.

Tranquility and Serenity—
Words often interchanged,
But both have meanings that aren’t quite the same.
For one is peace in your surroundings, and the other is peace from within.

You cannot seek one
Without discovering and embracing the other.
Two sides of the same coin, like Yin and Yang,
Always seeking balance.

You guided me,
Lighting my way through the darkest moments.
I held steadfast, unwavering—the rock you needed,
A new foundation to build upon.

I confess this truth to you,
As you have given both, reciprocal,
As I have given unto you.

Time will tell.
This story has not ended.
It is still being written—
A journey to destinations unknown.

And all because,
I FOUND YOU.