i like to comb the beach to see what i can find
anything of interest the tide as left behind
looking through the **** that is lying there
maybe find a treasure that is very rare

maybe find a bottle with a little note
or may be find a piece of a sunken boat
there are many things washed up by the sea
lots of little treasures lying there for free

FAREWELL MY LOVE
I'm off to la-la land
to the spot called Nod
I'm sure you understand.

Seasons change as seasons do
the dawn comes awful early
and if I miss my sleep
I wake up very surly.

The night comes late
the sun comes quicker
in my bedroom window
the birds begin their bicker.

Sunrise comes a-creeping
sunrise brings the light
my eyes absorb the glow
and thus, it ends my night.

So, I'm off to bed at nine
to dream of sugar-plums
and other dream-like things
until the morning comes.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Mountains, cover me
Sands upon my sleeves
Take me down to the sea
My sails of sleep
Let my burdens drown
Down to the watery deeps
Let my soul run free
Up to the mountain peaks
Snowy caps, cover me
To my knees
Cold air grant sweet release
I'm coming down
Where the ground rises up to meet
The sky and ocean black
Sparks set free
Fires, cover me
One more round
Of air in my lungs
Battle worn and ready now
Cover me until I'm complete

254

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

1123

A great Hope fell
You heard no noise
The Ruin was within
Oh cunning wreck that told no tale
And let no Witness in

The mind was built for mighty Freight
For dread occasion planned
How often foundering at Sea
Ostensibly, on Land

A not admitting of the wound
Until it grew so wide
That all my Life had entered it
And there were troughs beside

A closing of the simple lid
That opened to the sun
Until the tender Carpenter
Perpetual nail it down—

she tends to her own roots
she waters her own soul
she heals her own wounds
she is the keeper of her garden

cleansing stagnant energy
she brings softness into her being
transforming beauty inwards
she grows into her highest self

the moonlight shines above
her light is no longer dimmed
she becomes one with the night
blossoming into a being of light