Why Didn’t I See Your Eyes

Why didn’t I see your eyes?

Still I tried
For this vision I haven’t found
And your browns, greens,
Forever changing
As landscape’s seasons change
And my footsteps
Through my soul’s golden copse
Recapturing.

Why didn’t I see your eyes?

Even though my feet are as tired
As cobblestoned history,
Gray hair grows upon my patience’s mind
Though burdened with none but thoughts
It is mine golden copse
Retiring into my hallow
That comforts even in
My burning question’s fever.

Why didn’t I see your eyes?

Hide and Seek (day 2885)

What did you do
When the mountain found you
Rolling over the field
Like dust in the wind
Gone in pure sin
Said the tree in the copse
For the gorge that uproared
Cleared it’s throat
In a waterfall
And clamered all down to the pond
Jumped up the bank
To hide in a den
Till the moon
Slipped behind the horizon
Then as dawn broke again
The mountain awoke
And spied what seemed him a joke.

Ode To Birds Singing At Night (day 2250)

When I bed my wary down
An anticipated rest at night
Whilst stars still not yet hung
A song plays in a key so high
So high I must quieten to enjoy
First the symphony comes
From the right of me
A solo of hesitation
Then echoing the chorus rings in:
“All of life, all of life, all of life!”
Off into the distant copse
A clear and bright bird stands up tall,
Two so close
One behind
Now chattering from all around!
Carrying me off on a journey
Into a night so deep
To surely dream
Of more sweetly
Singing birds.

Ol’ Ginter’s Ruins (day 737)

There’s a lady I walk by-the-by
She drags her feet like
With hair out wide
She’s got an old black lab
That huffs and puffs
Up ol’ Ginter’s Hill

She ain’t much of a hill
But the ruins at the top
Make a nice place to stop
For a break and a view
Let my mind sit and stew
Upon the brick walls that remain

In front of ol’ Ginter’s ruins
Lays a meadow and a copse
Brooding in green
With a gurgling stream
Which I roam up and down
Day in and day out

Some days I go up
Above ol’ Ginter’s ruins
There’s a well up there
At the end of the trail
Along the gurgling stream
Where I listen to the wild

There are two paths
From ol’ Ginter’s hill
To the house where I stay
One weaves through the woods
The other: a wide rocky path
I always go through the woods

Ginter's Meadow
Ginter’s Meadow