Comes the morning, thrush will call,
from brambled hedge, or garden wall.
Sing he must, and sing he will,
though even to a silent hill.
...
Leave back, leave back,
the meadow land,
where flowers come to grow.
To look upon a darker place,
...
My heart has made a garden,
where the thorn falls away from the rose.
Where every flower has your face,
the only flower that grows.
...
The Whimsicle pickle,
was out for a stroll,
when he spied a fresh egg,
who was out for a roll.
...
Off to the museum of art we go,
with she in front and me in tow.
Absorb some culture, see the show!
She stands before some framed mish mash,
...
I think upon my now ex wife,
who was to me all joy in life.
Still her precious voice I hear,
"Would you like some coffee dear? ".
...
If I must steer this ship alone,
the sea uncharted, ports unknown,
with no lighthouse on the headland,
to mark a dark unfriendly shore,
...
There comes a time;
when the walls fall down.
We see age in the eyes of our friends.
We smile.
...