"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.