Tag: prose

On Love


Let not your heart be parted
To be placed in strangers’ hands,
Because hearts are fragile;
They will break in loveless lands.

You’ll find out who loves you
When your heart they do not steal.
Seeing you become so frail,
They will help you heal.

If one day your heart insists
On care from someone new,
Be sure they will cherish it,
Remembering it’s you.

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A Star


An old clock ticks;
It’s half-past one.
Above, a Star
Sees everyone.

The broken souls
On streets below
Have found no cure,
No place to go.

The old clock has
Not known a night
When Star has turned
Away her sight.

Stirred by pity
At human fright,
She breaks the fog
To shine her light.

Grandmas


Great love helps a plant grow strong.
Her children can withstand the storms
Of life when tears become the song
And there is much to mourn.

Great love gives fire to a hearth
When winter nights are long and bleak.
She’s nurturing the growing earth,
Comforting the weak.

Great love—she’s an ocean wide,
The deepest and the warmest sea.
There are always hugs inside,
And they’re always free.

Flowers In My Hair


I wear flowers in my hair,
Even when they’re not in bloom.
Vining plants are everywhere,
Winding ‘round my room.

God made four seasons to be;
He is wise and he is fair.
Still, I look around and see
The Green is ever there.

Let me dream that things can stay,
Even after a farewell.
Then I can more easily say,
“So long—time will tell.”

Autumn does not mean a thing:
Forests spring up in my heart.
This dream I’ll keep nurturing,
Until I’m full of art.

The Legend of the Blue Lady


She’ll pass through the wood
In her midnight-blue gown.
Always she visits
The sleepy old town.
Many have seen her
But none know her name.
She does not speak to them;
It’s all the same.
Folk say her weeping
Brings trees from the ground,
Tears like a river—
O! mournful, the sound.
A lad claimed she joined him
On a moonlit walk…
But he can’t describe her,
So how can he talk?
One thing is for certain,
She reigns in the night,
Pale as a moonbeam,
To some a great fright.
Good mothers tell children
Not to stay out late.
One doesn’t know
When the Lady doth wait.

Lament


Leaves will change
From green to gold,
Like they do every year—

But I cannot
Watch them crisp
Without shedding a tear.

The cricket-chorus
Will be gone,
Our bushes will be still.

When frost sets in,
Ice-cold like death,
I will absorb the chill.

Even lovely things
Need sleep
To flourish in the day.

Flowers bow
Their graceful heads,
And I wish they would stay.