Albert Price Poems
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Ode To The Poinsettia
Across the lowly equator they have flown,
The days of sweltering heat and butterflies.
And the poinsettia shows all it green display,
Without the brightness of its yellow eyes.
Looking forward to the Holy Night,
When in blazing bracts it is born anew.
Celebrating the Holy Advent of our Savior,
With its hypnotizing ruby red debut.
The gift of sight to the spiritually blind,
Who have spent a season in a green spell,
With hearts awaiting the honored return,
Of the joyful sound of the silver bell.
The summer has been hot and dreary,
With little love ...
My Nimble Moon
So lovely you grace the height of glory,
Repeating nightly to the listening earth the wondrous story.
I read in your looks a knowing judge of love,
A knowledge acquired by eyes peering long from above.
Then, with pretty flight, you perch the throne
And listen to the musings of the owl in his somber tone.
His song to you makes the crickets sing,
And a harp plays as God tunes the strings.
Gleam forever, moon of my fancy dreams,