I feel like a crosstie beneath rusted rail, awaiting a weight that will never return. The years that I prospered are fall’s early burn and winter reminds me
A true love knows no age, no bound’ries rise to fetter or confine the bloom that grows. A true love views the world through blinded eyes, discounting what
What I Hope In a half forgotten corner of a mind that’s lost its way, is she walking in a meadow, can she smell the new mown hay?
This winter lingers late in rime filled dells, old wearied bones and joints creak stiff and sore, glazed frosted panes await Spring’s welcomed spells, impatient for warm promises
In blackest days, the lore of old Comes beckoning us to the past. Once lost inside, we safely fold Our memories so they will last. There cannot be