the tide is restless turning in its sleep
the rippled moon sits on the horizon
and in the eerie light
the dawn is not awake
...
another year, another chance
another dance with circumstance
perhaps a kiss, perhaps a glance
...
There is too much sorrow in this world,
too much for lamenting poets to describe,
too much to chronicle with weak words.
...
The smell of old folks houses
makes me believe
that men are made of dust.
When I was young we used to go
...
On the edge of a cliff,
on the edge of a night,
a dark little cabin
is edged by my light.
...
I searched for you in every crowd
and in the silent darkened places
in cities of the empty soul
...
a breeze that stirs the pine
will bring its seed to earth
the passion of the spring
...
the autumn glow is here
with winter coming soon
a last display of color
beneath the harvest moon
...
A thing of beauty is a moment's grief;
the kiss of earth is but a fantasy.
For beauty fades and dies without relief,
a perished rose in frail mortality.
...
invaders have arrived
they do not hail from outer space
they are invisible
...