Lover's Prayers

Memories decline

To call to mind

The fragrance

Of flowers never born

In heartless tragedy

Recollections never

 Embraced again

In memoirs

Never written

In pen less ink

Reminisces folioed

In aching regret

Bigger ideas

Of lover’s prayers

Aborted timelessly

It's True

It’s true, it’s true

Better than I

You!

And all alike

Better than I

In all your

Glory

Better

In mind and sight

It’s true, it’s true

Weaker am I

Me!

And all alike

Weaker am I

In all my

Glory

To wonder

From your sight

It’s true, it’s true

Stronger are

You!

Not a one, is like

Stronger are

In all your

Glory

Stronger

To restore my sight

Peace

In two dwellings

Do I find

Peace that all men seek

One reclined

On wooden pew

Surrounded by the meek

Every Sabbath

Sometimes more

Redemption echo’s often

Always sweetly

In rebuke

My heart begins to soften

Now the other

Peaceful place

Fleshly, Oh so mild

Merciful God

Gifted me

With my youngest child

In her smile

And sweet voice

A calming melody

Little touches

Wrapped round hugs

Comfort grabs holt of me  

Southern Skies

Eyes that reside in Southern skies



See the world, so differently


Bending minds to humbler times


And reminiscent most significantly






About the beauty of calmer days


When tomorrow came as expected


Not in persistence of blurred haze


In varied moments most reflective






Oh to feel that bright Southern sun


With an infrequent Northern breeze


When words spoken once, then done


"Thank you""Yes Ma'am" and "Please"






Frequented neighbors and our kin


With voices and help , never distant


Till brutal came, that Northern wind


Destroying the calm, in an instant






Whatever the reason, providence fell


The winds and breezes now yearning


Feed the fire, that forge the bell


Of Southern pride, now burning

Sunday's are Sunny

Sunday’s are sunny

Like they should be

Said my youngest son, to me

And in return, said I to he

You are correct, very much I see

So open the windows

And let Sunday come in

Pull up the blinds

Let in the wind

Let it blow hard

Right through this home

This is the place

For this Sunday to roam

Not just the wind

But the sunshine in force

And not just the literal

But the spiritual of course

For Sunday’s are sunny

And for my son, it’s true

Yes, Jesus makes Sunday’s

Sunny

For you

Tell me

Tell me about today

Tell about tomorrow

Tell me about your world

The dreams you dream and borrow

Tell about your yesterday

Tell me about the past

Tell me about your home

The things you want to last

The Ride

THE RIDE
  

I will ride upon that horse

That others fear to ride

I will shout with warriors past

And let these worlds collide

I will set upon that beast

Never fear the sway

I will ride faster still

Until that glorious day

I will not fail the frail

Protect them is my call

I will swing sharpened sword

And watch those enemies fall

I will not slow the pace

Until this ride is done

I will not dishonor the past

 Modernity will I shun

I will follow another’s road

For I am not alone

I will wear ancient garments

And lead where I am shown

I will obey sacred writ

Attack and not retreat

I will grip providence’s right

And never embrace defeat

This one ain’t done yet….abandoned for the time being