Peter S. Quinn Poems

Minutes to the hours
No matter what we say
We are withering flowers
When the night comes to day
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The change of time
Affects us in days to come,
The future is unknown
Who knows where it's from?
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Winters blood will drip into the melting snow,
When again the colors of nature will show;
Tomorrow with fragrance of thousand shades,
That for a summer - without any fades.
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In deepest dark, a spirit moves a word,
In search of lights that floods on clouds from here;
There is no ending there for a songbird,
Just the clock, fate with time will know and share.
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Swing on high - or on low
Shadows are on the move
New times summer's glow
With its shades to improve
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I have not fallen
To the ground
My shoulders
Are strong and high
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Heard you on the radio station,
Singing to the entire nation;
Songs of peoples love and pain,
Sweet soft loving Jean.
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Love is such a sweet way to go
If it’s deep inside your heart
Let it just come fast or slow
Not being something else apart
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There is always something to do
I suppose life is in a hurry
Though it's much up me and you
Not to have any kind of worry
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Open skies of hours
Time adjust each new play
The forgetful dayflowers
Gathering as they may
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