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

Some days you’re in bliss, Some days you’re in pain. Some days you’re up in the clouds, Some days you’re down in the flame… Some days you get what you want

If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most

At that magical time When the yellow moon Sets, And the pink mist Of dawn,

Summertime gives A chance to grow Under the sun, Travel, to new places And have some fun.

Driving through the small towns of America, children of all colors playing in the streets, some with tattered clothes

Life is like a dream A star studded sky A blink of an eye Oh, how life slips by. Life is like a song

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

Mr. R. would talk about his deceased brother, he dreamed about him frequently; also of an eagle

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,

First snow of the season Came down light and gay, With it’s bright white, Reflecting, Off slow moving clouds

Time passing by now In a blink of the eye, In the clap of a hand, In the chirp of a bird, In a flash of light

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

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

The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles