Beneath the bustling, hustling mind, deep inside, there is an oasis of calm.

In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,

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,

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

In the still night In the silence, My soul begs, My mind to rest. It’s story told

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

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

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

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

On this New Year’s Eve Direction lost Drifting like blowing snow To and fro. A freeze comes

To open and risk hurt... Or stay closed but Never really live. Pain can reveal... A connection to

Grateful for: Sunrise of pink and gold Showing the way, Lighting the sky, To another blessed day.

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

This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.

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