Tiny little inchworm
Moving right along.
But then came a bird
To rob him of his song.

A Christmas gift of
Decades has, many a night,
Kept me warm… cushioned
My arm rest… formed a pillow.
My security blanket.

In every river
There’s a sea.
In every acorn,
There’s a tree
And in every boy,
There’s a man.

Life is
As the sea with
Events, and matters, and
Times and circumstances that come
In waves...

Unless
We be flooded.
Overwhelmed by all that
Is heaped ‘pon us. And crushed by the
Vast tides.

He lets
Them come in waves
That we should not be swept
Into oblivion. What great
Mercy.

Early
Morn. Red sunrays
Hug the bare tree trunks in
A mid-winter scene. Thirty-six
Degrees.

At the nursing home
I visited my friend
Whom I hadn’t seen
In a long time.

Her life had ebbed,
And her health was in steady decline
As she struggled with
The dreaded Alzheimer’s.

While she slept soundly,
The squirrels played cheerfully
On the jolly ‘ol tree
Just outside her bedroom window.

I’ve seen
Time fly as if
A bird with wings.  Seldom
Does it perch anymore, like it
Once did.