Sunset at “Hovel du Paul” October 30, 2012
Poppy Blossom ……………………………………………………………… Reflection in a Pond
Ashley’s latest artistic endeavors.
Isn’t she great?!? This sweet young lady makes my
heart smile every time I hear from her.
My soul is afire
to view and to roam
the green hills of Eire
land of my fathers
land of hearts home.
Down a winding trail
past fence made of stone
I find no travail
walking this path alone.
I seek a beginning
in this land so old,
walk the ways of ancestors
who were wise brave and bold.
Find trace of their glory
hold it close in my heart.,
Let my soul hear their story.
Let their song’s music start.
Happiness is a hill full of flowers
In the brilliance of the morning sun
Right after the touch of soft spring showers.
Columbines, daisies, and Queen Anne’s Lace
All do their best to put a smile on your face.
Happiness is the laugh of a child
An innocent but mischievous, snickering grin
A young imagination run wild
As their glorious dreams of life begin.
Happiness a dream we wove
When two hearts began to blend
Into life encased in lasting love
For those who share it will never end.
I recall a time
when all the world was mine,
a time when the sun was
much more than just light
shining deep in my heart,
making everything bright.
Where has it gone,
this great source of light
leaving my days
with no rythm, no rhymes?
Too many sad times,
so much has been lost.
Yet now even the night
gives some hope of light
with stars and a moon
in the heavens glisten bright.
Tears are as many as memories I save
memories so sweet I’ll take to my grave.
Please do not confuse
these words as sad verse.
For to deny those were loved
would be the greatest of crime (and)
I can only pray it will never be mine.
I live in the shadows of many who cared
who gave of themselves all that they dared.
In mem’ry of their love, these words I now write
and wish to you all…, be well…, and good night.
Home, not made of sticks and stones
Resides always inside these bones
No bricks, boards, shingles, hearth
But ever present within my heart.
Matters not where the spirit roams
If I live, it is at home.
Secretly, hidden in the side of a hill
She chants o’er a boiling cauldron
With a voice that’s evil and shrill
She evokes no warmth, not even a smile
Darkness abides around her for miles
Into the cauldron she puts fear and fright
To be cast at us all on Halloween night
Will visit each neighborhood til the night ends
With ghosts, and goblins, and all of her friends