Thanks

THANKS

Coarse his voice, manner gruff, carriage haughty,

Hands decade’s toil worn, cut, broken.

Dues overpaid yet sought no refund,

Accolades hard-earned never came,

And ’twas when no more he spoke

Then canard’s fodder, they would not mourn.

 

 

Ember

EMBER

Weary hand finds eleven
Quiet

Save her whisper,
“Closer, ’tis not so late

Let savage winter chill your raging doubts.”

 

Stoke fading ember emblazoned on it,

I

I am with you

With you now

And I will make you dream again.

 

Friendship (The Truth of it)

   FRIENDSHIP
   (The Truth of it)

Finds his rest where day winks glistened beams
robin rocks intoxicating slumber
mischief grin eternal though hushed in dreams.
An eye naught misses, hears from narrow squint
rustling feet tells mister quits there,
blinks his sleepy eye,
journeys to another place.