James Walter Orr Poems

I am but a leaf on the tree of life,
And I shake in the wind that passes by,
While the doe that plays in the autumn grass
Stirs the forms of others whom once hung high.
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It’s neither you nor I that are mistaken,
but worldly circumstances that inhibit
and place us in this pathway of restrictions.
We travel only by imagination.
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I'm left saddened and puzzled,
Distressed but inured,
To long odds of success that
The play is secured.
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Within this world, when falls wind-driven snow,
As always was, the poor accrue more need
And as the wintry storm winds start to blow,
The bitter hunger ever plants its seed.
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I stood on the hill-top, and westward I gazed,
Where back in my boy-hood, the antelope grazed.
The prong-horn will graze there no more.
Pastures are covered with Hereford’s white faces;
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Another year has wound itself
Upon our spool of life.
Reserves, once stored upon the shelf,
Have fallen to the knife.
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How shall I go when I do go?
To take me hence is very hard,
Along that bitter trail of tears,
Beset with pain, all burnt and charred.
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How shall I go when I do go?
Shall I hitch up my mismatched team
And start out for the golden west;
Fulfillment for a boyhood dream?
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Two lovers in the moonlight,
Their passion holds its sway;
They meld into the shadows,
While loving comes their way.
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I wander through life,
And I learn from my strife,
How precious the memories are.
The battles, though rife,
...