Cosmic dust is what we are,Remnants of an ancient star,Drifted to a distant shore,To dance a while in sunlight,Then slip away into the night,Back into
Category: Poetry
Across a field of clover running, Through the dew-wet sward I go, Laws of earth and heaven shunning, Through the streams of sunshine flow. Bees
Blessed be the flower of hope;That sprouts roots in any soil,With all weather willing to cope,To reap the reward of toil! I will feast on
I sought a very exceptional rose; A flower supreme in every way – Bloom that not age, nor blight, nor aphid knows, Whose
Autumn flower, in this remiss hour, sunset lingers, persevering! Bonny countenance, that dost almost entice winter to spare her frost! Winter whispers in the brisk
No more tears! Save sorrow for later years When no morrow comes with the setting sun. Being well enough cheers most mortal fears
We are only shadows and sand, Blending into deepening shades of dusk. We are fire in mystery’s hand, Fragrance of bloom lost to
Nightingale, thou art not forlorn, Thy sacrifice not made in vain That hung thy life upon a thorn, And tempered true love with its stain.
Do you fear to be free? Are you afraid to fly, To be, but not to be, To be born as you die, To bathe
Below Mink Creek Steeps there is an old homestead,Or was – now just a square of foundation stonesThat ranging cattle sometimes use as a bed.There