O' heart, I wonder how
you can store
so many different
emotions of ours
in just thy four puny
chambers
while pumping away the
liquid of life

O' heart in you we
discover love
but side by side you can
harbour hate
In you we find the
emotion of happiness
but side by side you
simmer rage!

When you cease to beat
many plans you thwart
May God protect the
young human heart.

And while some O' heart
you hold dear
some make you skip a
beat in fear!

O' heart but we find in
you as well
the vile emotion of
jealousy
Such a potpourri of
emotions in you dwell
Help filter out any wrong
ones for you and me!

A mere four chambers
indeed, but spacious are
they
Invite therein
whomsoever in the
world you may

But in the end forget not
to reserve
atleast a single chamber
for its Creator, to
preserve
The creator of hearts
More than that deserves.

There are three ways to do things these days, it seems,
And so the confusion abounds.
As one wishes, plans, and strenuously schemes
To do that novel thing he has found.

There is a right way which is always right,
No matter what others may think.
It seems though that some say with all of their might,
That this way is that which does stink.

Another way there is which is always wrong
And this way many will not leave.
The wrongness they are often pointedly shown,
Yet they simply will not believe.

Then there is a way that is mine. All mine!
It is the way I usually choose.
This way is right in my mind, I opine,
To admit that it is wrong, I refuse!

So I will keep plugging along this path,
Regardless of what others may say.
I will even endure their ridicule and wrath,
When they say there is a much better way.

He came into their yard one dreary day,
Hoping that he there from the rain could stay.
They gazed at him standing there in his miserableness
And quickly realized that he would be more than a guest.

He could not have been more than a few months old,
Standing there timidly yet trying to be bold.
Friendliness he showed with wagging tail,
Convinced that in their favor he would prevail.

They gladly welcomed him into their home,
Wondering from where he had so carelessly roamed.
No average pup was this lovely pooch,
They could not, therefore, name him “*****.”

They contemplated for more than an hour or two,
To reach a conclusion for a name that was new.
It could not be “Rover” or simply “Fido”,
Because of his class, it must be Phydeaux.

Redneck, they sometimes call me,
Though I do not understand why.
Simple is what some choose to be,
Instead of “pie in the sky”.

To stay at home and a quiet evening spend,
Instead of “painting the town”.
To not go after every modern trend,
To be content to just “hang around”.

Flashy clothes, I do not wear,
Overalls are my frequent attire.
For wing-tip shoes, I do not care,
Boots are all that I require.

“Old-fashioned” is another term,
That often to me is applied,
By those who choose never to learn
That “old” ways have not all died.

Being old - fashioned is not nearly so bad,
As many mistakenly think.
It is better far than holding modern fads,
That disappear quick as a blink.

Morality, truth, honor, respect,
Are some of those things not lost.
By those who will not be side-tracked,
By the modern day “new ideas” host.

Yes, I will continue to be “outdated”,
And with bad accusations not care.
These many years I have waited,
Now, my label with pride I do wear.

The eagle soared to heights above,
Then swooped down to the ground,
To that place that he had grown to love
Where sustenance could be found.

Up above where the air is thin,
He has an amazing view.
It is there his pursuit will begin
To ****** a rat, or shrew.

The astonished victim down below,
Tries to his dismay to flee.
“How can the eagle possibly know,
That I will not long be free?”

Accuracy in vision, as well as in flight,
The eagle can rightly claim.
Supremacy in nearly every fight,
Adds much to his ongoing fame.

Extraordinary creature, certainly is he,
The master of the sky.
Most of creation will surely agree,
And will never try to defy.

Old age is viewed in different ways,
Depending on how you spend your days.
From a youngster’s view it is so far away,
Yet, when it arrives, youth was “yesterday”.

To anticipate “forty”, ‘tis a thing that is true,
Which often makes one sad and blue.
To think after this of reaching “fifty”,
Is to some, “Not very nifty.”

“Sixty or “Seventy” is way out of reach,
Many will themselves, deliberately teach.
While these thoughts are each “quite weighty”,
Have you given much thought to reaching “eighty”?

Yes, old age is a thing most will see,
It should be pursued with much glee.
For to have not reached this joyful goal,
Is to have missed many blessings untold.