It is autumn; not without
But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
It is I that have grown old.

Birds are darting through the air,
Singing, building without rest;
Life is stirring everywhere,
Save within my lonely breast.

There is silence: the dead leaves
Fall and rustle and are still;
Beats no flail upon the sheaves,
Comes no murmur from the mill.

I call her Moon.
              Why, you ask?
Because she is light
     when my nights are heavy.

r ~ 4/24/14

My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and ****,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.

She lends her pen,
to thoughts of him,
that flow from it,
in her solitary.

For she is his poet,
And he is her poetry.*

-Lang Leav

Sing me a song of rain.

Strike lightning in my eyes.

Blow a warm breeze through my hair.

I'll dance a happy Wood Stork dance for you, my flower child.

Pretending all the while that we're at Yasgur's Farm.

r ~ 4/25/14

Build up your treasure
in heaven, with riches
that never fade

Reach out for the
greater things in life,
whose origins only
in heaven lay

Hunger for the spiritual
things, those special
gifts from up above

And my God will
reward you aplenty,
with all the fullness
of His love

Lift the Lord Jesus up
on high, for He  loves
to hear your praise

And keep His love
which is so special
deep within your
heart always

Long for the treasure
found in heaven
deeply craving it
night and day

For the place where
your treasure really
lies, is where your
heart will surely stay.