Emmanuel Katto

In the shadows of the night,
When sorrow tries to take its might.
My friends are like shining beacons,
Erasing my pain and my demons.
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Mystery

Appearing as
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In life's journey, pursuit of dreams,
Success gleams in determined streams.
With grit and courage, we strive high,
On wings of effort, we touch the sky.
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A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —
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"The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love,
In cold grave she was lain.
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As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
'Where sall we gang and dine to-day? '
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In life's grand tapestry, we all play a part,
A journey of the soul, a work of living art.
From birth to twilight's grace, our story unfolds,
A tale of highs and lows, a saga to be told.
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S harks infest
O ceans so rough
U nderneath clouds of
T hick marshmallow fluff
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Bat-eared fox and wind
In the stalks are
Given to conversation.
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Baby, when you hold me, my emotions makes it clear
Just how much you mean to me while we are laying here.
I listen to your heartbeat in rhythm with my own,
With every pound that warming sound keeps me safe with love you've shown.
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‘Tell me whose men ye are, ' he says,
‘Or whose men that ye be;
Who gave you leave in this Cheviot chase
In the spite of mine and of me? '
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Look...See how long nights are drawing in.
Dreary birdsong gradually abates -
Opaque dusk grows dim;
And just outside the creaky little garden
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coconut pulp snow spots on the brown wilted meadow
as feet soak in the chestnut boots sinking in the onyx soil

I listen for the rosewood calls of the red-winged blackbirds
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it's another day and the sun decides to sleep in

the hidden hazel lost in her eyes, hanging by a moment
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I've been trying to write some darkness
but there's a junco on my shoulder
so just when the shadows start to bend,
like snakes along a shaken earth
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Sweet balcony boxwoods stand tall, dressed for a party,
exploding in feathery blooms, a bajillion stamens
loosing pollen to ride a rough morning wind
to the farthest end of our valley. More
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There are a tearfull of towns
driving a deep-seated hide by
at a full five over the posted.
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