I Stay
Very
Still,
Soon
I Will
See
The
Finches
Fill
The
Window
Tree.
Red
Of
Head
And
Breast,
They
Stop
To
Rest,
Groom
Their
Feathers,
Oblivious
To
All
Weathers.
In
The
Safety
Of
The
Branches,
Conduct
Brief
Romances,
Then
Fly
Away,
Until
Another
Day.
If
I Stay Very Still, Soon I Will See The Finches Fill The Window Tree. Red Of Head And Breast, They Stop To Rest, Groom Their Feathers, Oblivious To All Weathers. In The Safety Of The Branches, Conduct Brief Romances, Then Fly Away, Until Another Day.
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As I Might, Every Night, You Invade My Dreams. Nothing Is As It Was, The Misty Stranger Is Apt To Change, As Does The Intricate Game, But It’s You All The Same. Memory’s Not Worth A Damn, I Remain Who I Am, And Love Has Been Gone Ever So Long, But It’s The Same Old Song As On I Chase, Trying To Clearly See Your Face. Death
Is A Constant, That’s Quite True, Makes A Random Visit To A Friend Or Two, Then Suddenly, It’s You. Finding The Fated Spirit There, Abruptly, You’re Out Of Air. With It’s Delicate, Inevitable Choice, Comes A Loss Of Voice, So Take Great Care To Say Your Piece, We’re All Of Us Set On Quick Release. I Saw
The Full Moon Rise, Winter White Against The Indigo Night, It’s Glow Of Light Dappling The Barren Trees, And I Was Pleased To Witness It’s Steady Travel, A Galaxy Of Stars Beginning To Unravel As It Climbed, The Pocked Expression A Tranquil Smile, Luminous Over The Empty, Vast, And Open Miles. Fragments
Of Song Are My Companions All Day Long. These Vary From Rock To Bach, Lyric And Rhyme Keeping Time. Poetry Of The Masses, Refrains Treasured By All Classes, Themes That Mean More Than Most Know, Heard Everywhere We Go. Winter
Sky, Cloud Streaked Blue Of A Delicate Hue, Sleeping Trees Bare Branched In A Frosty Breeze. Below The Garden Ground, Round Bulbs Of Daffodils Recline, Aging Like Wine, Waiting For Warm Spring Sunshine. The
Year Plays Out In A Mist Of Frost. Praise For The Joy Negates The Cost Of Flagrant Loss. Hope, Always Hope, No Matter The Odds, Bearing The Whims Of Capricious Gods In Some Ancient Room, Carelessly Bathing This Northern World In Winter’s Gloom. Tomorrow
Is Winter, But The Sky Is Blue, And Somehow, We’ll Make It Through Until Spring, Despite Everything. Christmas And Another Year Ends. I Will Forgive Again My Timeworn Sins As I’m Able, And At The Holiday Table, Join In Spirit All My Lost Friends. Flung
Roses Of The Past, Bright Blossoms That Could Not Last, Cast Away With Vague Thoughts Of Future Days, But Lost, Never To Come Again In Time’s Relentless Spin. Oh, Disloyal, Unaware Of How Faithful Deep It Was To Care, Distracted By A Shimmering Reflection, A False Direction, Precious Love Caught In Faded Flowers And Uncounted Hours. Fate
Swirls The Tealeaves Of These Days, The Promise And The Praise, The Dregs Of Destiny Blend, Descend And Fall, Revealing Patterns Of Despair Amid Joy’s Brief Share, And We Are Stranded There, At Rest Between The Unknown Worst And Best, The Lost And Won, Quickly Rinse The Cup, And All Is Gone. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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