Walking on the beach of long ago, the constant roll of the gulf, it’s sound, like a lullaby.

When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer

On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while

Her smile was like gold, Her lines were often bold, Her stories of wisdom told, In books that are now sold. She has left the earth,

When I grow really old I may have to do yoga Full time, to get out The aches and creaks. When I grow really old

Red sun in the morning rolling up the side of earth. The sky turned pink, as a ball of fire showed it’s strength,

In the bright moments My mind is a flame, Melting obstacles, Gaining gifts of wisdom. In the dark moments

I do believe, to give to others lends meaning to our lives. To be there

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

It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.

Life is not fair at times... But of course things Change quickly down the line, We are born into a No guarantee world.

The white snow lay gently on the ground in a swirl pattern. The sky, a slab of smooth grey stone.

Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,

Come with me To the mountain top, Where the crest touches The sky And the air so pure,