The sound of truth rings like a bell
with perfect pitch and timeless knell
There are no jarring overtones
...
A woman friend the other day
said someone left her stranded
the person moved to other scenes
the parting had been candid
...
My songs are like small grains of sand
Tossed in the sea of days
Small pebbles from my shaky hand
Cast toward hidden cays
...
In days of youthful heady daze
I'd follow butterflies
and run through dewy reeds and fields
and hum sweet lullabies
...
Thoughts arise of home-baked bread
Set on hearthen coals bright red
Grain hulled on the threshing-floor
Coarse hands forming loaves of yore
...
Kind words are never wasted
though falling on deaf ears
somehow each word is treasured
and can become more dear
...
The sky is ever azure
no cloud dare mar its view
as shepherds gather flowers
sweet maids to win and woo
...
The wounds of life can't be avoided
in work, in play, or deep within
none is immune to swords of battle
no man, no woman and no child
...
I've been granted blessings
not a few
challenges to conquer
and subdue
...