"Alive"

Today I am alive,

There is beauty just in this,

My lungs fill with each breath,

And I may drink of bliss.

For the sun is shinning,

The air is cool and sweet,

And I may roam about this earth,

With working, bounding feet.

I may rest in quiet,

Or sing upon the air,

For God's earth is beautiful,

And each of us it's heir.

"Yearning"

My soul aches with poetry,

With words I cannot say,

How beauty leaves a

pressures on my senses,

That will not go away.

"Ballerina"

I look upon a ballerina,

Made up of music and wind,

I marvel in matchless awe,

At each turn and bend.

And as I watch her grace,

The lilts and turns of her frame,

I know somewhere deep within me,

That my soul moves just the same.

"Contentment"

In every hope there is sorrow,

Such is the way of life.

There is no happiness untouched,

By some searing knife.

You must not look for bliss unmixed,

For you will thirst in vain.

You'll vex all comfort from your soul,

With discontent your only gain.

Instead rest in mercy,

Whether in darkness or in joy,

And in God'd great and gentle love,

Consistent in this world's alloy.

"Seasons"

Spring, that time of life when youth is utterly mad,

Dashing about in desperation to be glad,

Never ceasing its hectic frenzy of merriment,

Little caring how much of precious life is spent.

Summer comes when the wild flush of Spring is gone,

Not quite so blind is it, yet youthful dreams cling on,

Still it hopes, with a tremor and a wistful sigh,

Longing that yet happiness will not pass it by,

Autumn comes, later still, when vibrancy begins to wain,

When it seems that youth and beauty might have been in vain,

Yet a gentleness begins to settle, with the fog and with the mist,

And a value for all of life, even with dreams unkissed.

And of Winter, I could not tell you, for I've not been there yet,

Some think it is a time where woes and sorrows are met.

And while I may prove wrong, I suspect rest more deep.

With life bubbling beneath a quiet surface, growing yet in sleep.

"The Modern Edwardian"

She dressed in things her great-great grandmother wore,

And she wore them well.

Modern things she found quite a bore,

Though why, she could never tell.

Perhaps she loved to be found unique,

Though it was possible she didn't care. 

For those Edwardians were oh-so-chic!

Compared to modern vanity fair.

No, she never cared how they pointed and gaped,

For clothes, she thought, were an expression,

Of how your soul was shaped,

And antiques suited her to perfection.

"Fear Not"

Dear little one, fear not pain,

Though it seems endlessly deep,

For on the the other side you'll find,

That before your soul was asleep.

Fret not, dear little soul,

When you come to the fire,

You'll find your soul lighter without the dross,

And it will lift itself from the mire.

Lastly, dearest one,

Do not fear the crushing stone,

For nothing is quite so strong,

As the once broken bone. 

"The Bonny Apple Tree"

Behold the bonny apple tree,

Prettiest thing you'd ever see,

Little thought of trouble has she,

Sweetly decked in blooms

Day by day, she ever flirts,

With those dancing amid her rosy skirts

No robin, bee nor maid ever hurts

She who gives such joy. 

Yet amid such gaiety,

With no thought of calamity,

Still looming close with certainty,

Dark clouds spell out her doom.

Battering, pelting through the sky,

Every rosy petal falls to die,

Not every moan is the wind's own sigh,

Oh the poor little apple tree!

Barren branches limply hang,

Where formerly little birds sang,

Oh, how sharply all feel the pang,

Of beauty ground to dust.

But the bonny little apple tree,

Much more she knows then we,

For coursing through her secretly,

Is life for blooms again.

"Summer's End"

I once thought Summer's end

Quite a cruel thing,

Robbing the fertile earth 

Of all the beauty brought by Spring.

I once found nothing tempting,

In the colors of fading life,

And yearly I would meet fall's slow ascent

With great bitterness and strife.

My soul strove against,

All that was not young and bright,

Little suspecting that it was,

My own peace that I did fight.

For lives, as well as leaves, turn,

And so I found did mine,

And discovered that the dropping bloom,

Does not hurt the vine. 

Now I love and cherish,

The rest from the madness of Spring,

And the gentleness and peace,

Late Summer and Autumn bring.

Things I didn't understand in youth,

Are beautiful in maturity,

And as the patient earth yields each year,

I find I am in good company. 

"Gentle Eventide"

Dusky lavender clouds,

Billowed across the sooty sky.

The breeze, warm but fresh,

Drew from my soul a languid sigh.

I borrowed much of my mirth,

From the gentle, laughing day,

But my tender broken heart,

Felt safer tucked away,

In the evening and the night,

Especially ones such as this,

When the moon is soft and kind,

Rich in its somber bliss.

"Summer"

Come for a frolic with me, my friend,

Past the hedge that never ends,

Beyond the sun that never sets,

To places snow never wets,

Where the roses always bloom,

And the butterflies ever zoom,

A world quite beyond our dreams,

Alive with the magic of sun and moon beams,

Nothing sinister, nothing foul,

No mouseling stolen by the owl,

Only the music of the wind in the grass,

And the dancing laughter of lover and lass,

Only the thunder of the rustling leaves,

And the pretty nests the sparrow weaves.

There we'll be merry and our hearts will soar,

At once content, yet longing for more.

We'll linger there as long as we can,

In our beautiful summer fairyland.

"Girlhood"

 I used to pretend I was a little girl still,

And found it was easier so.

I still longed for all the fancies and thrills,

My girlish imagination could know.

The world appeared frightening, drab, and vast.

So exacting, harsh, and hard.

I could not bear to grow up fast,

And watch all my dreams become marred.

Yet still did the sorrows come,

Which lay girlhood aside,

Yet I found dreams could still flourish

And a sense of wonder survive.

I no longer pretend I'm a little girl,

And I find I am happier so,

And as I watch my life unfurl,

Even bittersweet, its a joy to know.

"Make Your Own Spring"

 Into the garden,

I tenderly stepped,

To see beauties

For which hearts have leapt.

But what I saw,

Made my heart cry,

For winter had made

The blossoms all die.

With a tremble I thought,

To turn quickly away,

From the blighted hope

Of the withered day,

Yet pausing a moment,

As a ray fell upon,

A small little rose,

With color quite gone.

Laying in dust,

No longer brilliant or gay,

Yet still it whispered,

And I heard it say,

"Beauty's not gone,

Though Spring has faded,

Nor need your joy,

Be longer belated.

There's joy in memory,

Though a gentler kind.

No matter the season,

It can be Spring in your mind."

"The Baptism of Pain"

My soul, blithe, untested,

Came to the river Despair,

I had no thought my merry path,

Would ever lead me there,

I looked unto my Savior's face,

And saw His gentle nod,

And wordless knew there was

no mistake in the little path I trod.

The depths were dark and murky,

I knew I could not stand,

But trusting I'd not be swept away

While I held my Savior's hand.

Quietly I stepped,

Into my baptism of pain.

Into waters where many

much stronger then I were slain.

Unspeakably cold,

No ray of visible light.

And yet remarkably I found,

I did not die of fright.

The pain was not less sharp,

I felt each unyielding wave,

Yet found that my Savior's arm,

Was truly "not short to save".

His grasp, so firm and tender,

Never new I better His love.

Nor even while drinking my gall,

Tasted such wondrous joys from above.

How truly He was with me,

Oh would take a lifetime to explain.

How love, hope, and mercy,

Can triumph in the midst of pain.

"After the Storm"