George Wootton

When best-laid plans have fallen to waste
and frustration abounds in their former place,
when failure looms with doubts and fears
we must endeavor to persevere!
...

Robins on the front lawn, waiting for a worm,
back from winters hideaway where days were mostly warm.
Shovel in the flowerbeds, blisters on my hands,
sparrows in my martin house, bare feet in the sand.
...

The grand old house is gone now from the hill on which it stood,
for a hundred years and then some, through the bad years and the good.
It was my favorite landmark on this often traveled road
to see it sent me dreaming of the toils of time it showed.
...

Mother, such a beautiful word just the sound brings a smile to my heart.
Just the thought of the word takes me back through the years by the memories that shall never depart.
Memories of an often rebellious child unknowing of her grief and pain,
unwilling to help ease her burdens and fears, harboring only thoughts of self gain.
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Once upon a fairy tale a girl set longing gaze,
She dreamed of knights on chargers
And a prince to fill her days.
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Christmas trees and Christmas bells
Christmas lights and all the frills.
Smiles on all the children’s faces
Special foods and yuletide graces.
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With heart heavy-laden I remember back when
things were much different way back then.
When neighbors were neighbors for miles around,
not just some other person living in the same town.
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Long ago and far away
God created a soul one day.
A beautiful soul it had to be
for it had a special purpose you see.
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Oh regal crown what brow is this
that fiery thorn doth pierce.
What tear doth well in bleeding eye
for soul of man to shield.
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The old lighthouse on yonder reef still stands
warning pilgrims of the dangers in unseen lands.
Death lurks for the unwary pilgrims here
as ships drive onward toward destruction so near.
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What man can tell what wondrous beauties
have past but once this way
unseen by human eye because
t’was closed in sleep at end of day.
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Many years ago when just a boy
I would go outside to play with some toy.
I could be in the pasture or down by the creek
or perhaps in the trash dump, for more playthings to seek.
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Until death us do part was the promise we made
through happiness and heartbreak together we stay.
No goodbyes or farewells or 'I don't love you anymore',
no, 'I now love another more exciting than before'.
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For Judy, my wife, on our seventeenth Valenversary

Love is such a tender thing
Like the daffodils in early spring.
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Whose children are these that wander the street?
Have they no home where they can safely find sleep?
Who are their parents and have they no love
for the greatest gift ever from our Father above?
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A child is a terrible thing to waste
a creation of beauty, perhaps conceived in haste
butchered before the first breath he could take
for convenience, financial or hatreds sake.
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There once lived a boy in a ghetto for him there was no other place.
He was not black or white or yellow or red just a boy of the human race.
He was none of these yet he was all for hopelessness knows no color.
He could have been you or me or your father but he was everyone's brother.
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I visited today a warehouse of wisdom,
tears of sadness clouded my eyes.
There the aged and infirm seek a familiar face
and stifle their grieving cries.
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What gift have I to leave behind
for my children and theirs,
that will last for all time?
What is it of me
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Hunny I miss you, I'd sure like to kiss you,
to gaze upon your beautiful face.
I'd love to be near you, let my longing ears hear you
sweetly singing Amazing Grace.
...