Daylight diamonds dance Atop a wavy surface—
We cannot make more time, we may only make good use of the time that has been given us.
Autumn leaves astir Whispering their golden hush
Meandering Throughout the forest glen One chilly morn in early spring, I spied a wounded Carolina wren.
There’s nothing like a morning cup, Or maybe two, Of morning brew.
On leaves the words and syllables advanced; To music of the mind they rose and danced.
The forest glen her new repose for thought A sunny view When there she found herself, all else forgot, Or little knew.
Parched, the thirsty soil cries out, Longing for relief from drought, Respite from the heat.
All along the winding trail Misty sunlight hangs its veil On the boughs of trees.