A Little Boy

Reflecting on the fields of life I've sown
in proper furrows; ample bales of hay,
I turn my mind to troubles that I've known;
to knowledge lost and found along the way.
The seeds that spawned the crops to feed the years;
in fields of every day; in rows of life--
brought happiness aplenty; bitter tears;
my children and a strong and loving wife.

The years have yielded lyrics, frank and terse.
From meadows of reflection; rows of time
I harvest to a journal bound with verse
this complicated life in simple rhyme--

from fields of thought to rows of scribbled joy--
an aging man, a youth-- a little boy.

How (v2.0)

How like a flame in fickle wind;
how fragile, love, if old or new
that, with a breath, comes to an end;
that, with another, glows anew.

How turn the cycles of the tides,
in waves, toward a battered shore.
How love erodes, how earth abides;
each grain of sand as those before.

How can we live if love can die;
why does love come, if it must go
How bittersweet was our goodbye
and how, my love, was I to know

that you could go and yet remain
the glow of love's eternal flame?"