Across the meadow land once green,
Where grasses sway beneath chilled wind,
Pale moonlight falls on snow pristine.

Ice patterns shifting in the scene,
Such beauty is by nature penned
Across the meadow land once green.

Here where the robins will convene
And finding naught to eat, ascend,
Pale moonlight falls on snow pristine.

I stand and watch, with heart serene
In moon's rays like a cherished friend
Across the meadow land once green.

When moments pause, my thoughts careen
Through lands where someday time may wend.
Pale moonlight falls on snow pristine.

Upon this frozen landscape seen
Tomorrow's sweetest hopes to lend,
Across the meadow land once green,
Pale moonlight falls on snow pristine.

In Oklahoma, time stands still
When springtime graces every scene
And redbuds bloom on every hill.

A robin dances, aims his bill
At earthworm, gulps, then wipes it clean.
In Oklahoma, time stands still.

From throats of feathered maestros spill
Great symphonies, yet seldom seen,
And redbuds bloom on every hill.

Narcissus' fragrances now fill
The morning's waiting breath so clean,
In Oklahoma, time stands still.

The dawning morn is bright to thrill
our hearts, revealing shades of green,
And redbuds bloom on every hill.

Dwelling nestors show their skill
With twigs and grasses they may glean.
In Oklahoma, time stands still,
And redbuds bloom on every hill.

The scent of springtime rises high
From fields and every wooded place,
While life is born beneath blue sky.

Sunflowers tremble, nodding shy,
Then shake off every raindrop trace.
The scent of springtime rises high.

The lazy clouds compete for sky
Up where the Purple Martins race,
while life is born beneath blue sky.

Reflection there within my eye,
A beautiful array to grace
The scent of springtime rises high.

The waving willows testify
Of joy seen there upon my face
While life is born beneath blue sky. My heart could never say goodbye
To all the sights that I embrace.
The scent of springtime rises high
While life is born beneath blue sky.

Quiet Whisper

Whenever morning shakes my hand
With warming touch, I understand,
Then feel a hope delightful spread
Within my heart, replacing dread
Of days marred by despair they bred.

Eternal hope within man springs,
And this explains my mood so grand.
Whenever all is said and done,
My joy is free, paid for by One.

Outside, the quest is doomed to fail,
For inside lies the joy one seeks.
The quiet whisper will prevail
If we keep silent when it speaks.

Now hold the treasures blindly owned,
Entrusted surely for our gain,
And these must be precisely honed,
Supplying healing for our pain.

The Author of our liberty
Gave us our creativity.

 

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Come tickle me and make me laugh,
And share delight with me.
Returning to our youthful ways
and be forever free.

Select a song, absurd the verse,
Forget about a tune.
We'll giggle through the afternoon
And then salute the moon.

Frugality is not our style,
Nor ever will it be,
Let's buy a case of caviar
And eat it in a tree!

I'll tell your boss-man you are sick
And not to bother you.
That way our afternoon is free.
(And all our nights are too!)

I promise not to tell a soul
About our midnight game.
We'll blow the payments on the house.
We'll find someone to blame.

Forget your bathing suit, let's leap
Into the lake at dawn.
We'll catch up on our sleep sometime.
(But, oh, much, later on.)

When we run low of cash on hand,
And acorns won't suffice,
We'll use your credit card to buy
Fine dinners once or twice.

Oh, one day soon, we must go home
And face the mortgage there,
But 'til we do, let's celebrate
The smiles that we both wear!

Not high upon life's ladder, he,
A lowly frog named Fred.
I told him once or twice to be
More quiet, or be dead.

A symphony Fred orchestrates
Whenever evening falls.
Cacophony, the jumbled sounds
That send me up the walls!

A pretty fellow, colored green,
With spots concealing him,
Fred reads the writing on my wall
And fears my every whim.

I measure frog-legs for the pan,
And contemplate the time
I'll dine upon a green quisine
And garnish with some thyme.

"Here Fred," I call, yet hear no sound
but splashing and some plops.
It seems that Fred has disappeared
By several well-planned hops.

In retrospect, I could not eat
A creature with a name
Or personality so cute,
Lest I retain the guilt and shame.

Goodbye dear Fred, I shall miss you
Each evening at sunset
When serenades that you once sang,
I can't seem to forget.

What's that I hear, a tiny song?
Did you leave babes behind?
Ah yes, I think I see them now -
My walkways have been signed.