(2015)
The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,
Sometimes wonder about a star, way afar. How life might be in outer space,
I lay still While my loved one, Sleeps. His warm hand In my hand,
Old friends walking on the beach, the waves bring in, memories, of carefree days;
Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion
In the still night In the silence, My soul begs, My mind to rest. It’s story told
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
At that magical time When the yellow moon Sets, And the pink mist Of dawn,
Red and gold leaves Falling, Sing to me Of the season of change, Before the snow,
As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.
The red cardinal high in a tree, caught my attention with his melodious chirp on my daily walk.
If we could embrace our sorrow and surf on our tears, surely our hearts would grow wider to hold the years
Twilight slides in quietly as birds fly to warm nests. Pink hues of evening reflect in the clouds. Soon the moon
My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last
On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while
