Fall (day 812)

I lost that feeling deep within the cavernous region of my lonely heart
When the holy sun set upon the western banks of euphoria
My fingers crawled with memories over burning sand shifting away time
Like Mother Nature’s wiles as summer turns to fall
Leaves challenging gravity to a duo, a fate well known to man
Fruits come to spoil and nights come to close amongst sober flight
Silently and diligently animals march their way with instincts
Into warmer climes and distant hills, far off ponds of migration
Flocks and herds and pods and groups and hibernation
With the great cycle of life: life and death and birth and age
And here I sit: legs crossed with my third eye alert
Searching amongst the birch trees and clovers for only that which comes
Without forced determination, without abrupt distraction
As the harvest moon breaches the young evenings virginity
And the lone coyote sings a song of love into the cool night air

Riga - 201209 (400 of 605)

Where the Wild Buttercups Grow (day 723)

Have you ever been where the wild buttercup grows?
Up past the fence where the cattle don’t go
There’s an oak tree there sheltering a patch
Of clovers so thick, of ground so cool

I don’t go back there often since I’ve moved away
The house has changed now, green house is blue
But when I do go up to where the buttercups grow
An overgrown path where the big old oak stays

I remember in ’24 Mary-Lou and I walked
Up to the meadow where the buttercups grow
We sat on the sunny side of the old oak tree
Upon the checkered blanket we brought with the wine

But lovers they come and some of them go
And the buttercups always continue to grow
Up in the meadow where the wild oak grows
Past the old fence where the cows don’t go