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

In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission

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

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

Leaves falling, Another season Decorating the earth. One red leaf In my path,

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

There is my shadow, A dark outline of this body And yet, it also holds, The hidden imperfections Of my existence.

Red cardinal dancing On white snow, How regal you appear With your cloak of red, How it cheers my heart

Easing down the gravel road, yellow leaves spiral across, like a welcome

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,

The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes

Orange full moon with a half smile, a hanging lantern, lighting the way, through dark streets,

Great scientific minds Working for cures Of terminal diseases, The clock ticks... What is the cure

The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched

Misty fog floating through bare trees. Cold waves of wind coarse through the woods whistling as they go