When I was just a little boy

I’d wonder thoughts of a man

How soon beyond this simple toy

would life become a void if I ran

away, apart from all that I love

searching again for that above

~

As then my teens would turn on me

the reckoning of coming of age

yet, what if instead I might decree

a liberty, desire to remain. I’d wage

a war on the passions that imply

that now today has become my lie.

~

For when the winds of November call

seems always we are falling down.

The blues of winter become visible

while we seek shelter, she her gown

drapes the countryside with that layer

of frozen tears, an ominous arctic prayer

~

Seems yesterday I was that little kid

playing about without a worry in my mind

each morning, in bloom a new orchid

that gave solace with little need to remind

me of a future that would cause such pain

I’d rather wander slow than reach for gain.