|
Feast Day
Back When We Few Were Many, We Piled The Table High, Put By Old Grudges, Forgave What We Could, And Forgot The Rest, Our Cups Full. Friend And Foe, Now Fallen, Come Yet In Spirit To Swell My Thinned Ranks, And I Celebrate Their Memory. View From Here
Sunset Paints The Eastern Clouds Tea Rose Pink, Accents Dark Blue Below, And Strokes In Pale Blue Above, To Good Effect. Soon The Sun Tilts, And Colors Quickly Meld Into A Rainbow Mist That Hugs The Mountain Top, Until Night Filters In, And Cloaks All In Shades Of Black. Email
To My Pal In Buffalo.... Man, You Guys Got Too Much Snow. Ho, ho. You Gonna Need A Shovel To Dig Outta Your Hovel. So, Good Buddy, Feel The Pain. My Shack Down Here Is Under Ten Inches Of Rain. We Three
Remember Stephen Said, That Night Walking In The Snow, The Four Of Us Covered In A Tinsel Of Falling Frost, Remember He Said, ‘All This Will Last Forever’, And We Believed Him? Aubade
Mahler’s Symphony #5 In C# minor Captures A universe Of Poignant Human Sorrow, Fruitless Striving, And Futile Loss. I listen And Feel Centuries Of Ancient Tears. And Yet. And Yet. How Mystical And Marvelous That He Can Speak Our Hopes As Well, And We Can Begin Yet Again. Current Weather
Snow Today In The East Mountains. A Mist Of Desert Rain Here, Chill And Ephemeral, Rises Up To Soak The Grey Satin Sky. Solitude Strolls Past. November
Winter Came In The Night, And Stole The Leaves From The Poplar Tree, To Scatter Them Carelessly Over The Ground, A Carpet Of Sunny Loss. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
|
RSS Feed