VICTOR Smith

I prayed to you for deliverance, promising
With contrition to wait, that there I would stay
And after a week they found me
On the morn of that eighth day
...

Afterward

Your absence would work no hardship on me
But, oh, how the sofa would cry
...

Can't help being this
So much in love
And it swept in on me like it's sent
From up above
...

I wrote a little poem ‘bout your body
But it seemed so cliché
So I pondered your soul instead
And put that pen away
...

I dreamt of a prince
Seated in a clearing in a beautiful wood
Where all was peace, and all seemed good
‘Neath trumpets of sunshine
...

Grandpa's Pumpkin

Little Kate asked grandpa
Where babies come from
...

Wish I could own the music
But we know to whom it belongs
Not the composer
Or the singer of the songs
...

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Seeking a woman who looks like Mila
Or Princess Grace
...

I dreamed that my soul might touch
Soft dust of the moon
As I pulled back my hand
Oh, such a man, with fistful of stars
...