Sitting on the lake shore, Which made my heart soar, The water rippled at times, Swirled into beautiful lines, Clouds reflected in it’s mirror,

Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

Holiday cheer and laughter, Multicolored lights blink faster, Music of love and good will, Grace the air like snowflakes. Tis the season to be compassionate…

As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.

When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.

Tonight, the wind whistles as it rushes through the atmospher… Winter’s bare limbs of swaying trees, dance in the shadows.

Yellow finches Line the bird feeder Against Spring’ s canopy Of green and purple tapestry. Back and forth they go

In the blink of an eye It’s a different scene On the big movie screen So easy to get absorbed In the story line of time.

The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.

Every hour we are someone Different, Every day something new Learned, Death is just another

Not sure where we are headed, Could be a long ride, Keep your heart steady, Open wide your eyes. There is something to learn

Pretend there is no tomorrow becau… there might not be. Live like there is only this momen… that is the truth. Nothing is solid but whispery,

Not a word heard As the river flows Over rock, around Banks that lie Waiting for visitors.

Life is but a dream, our fantasies, spill, like liquid tears that pool and vaporize into the air.