Seasons are changing.

This peaceful summer night,
Flows o'er my weary soul.
It makes my darkness light,
My broken pieces whole.
So gently sighs the breeze,
It cools the fevered land,
Smooths my troubled unease,
Gently, like heaven's hand.


I like summer evenings. The day's are too hot, but summer evenings outside on my little porch garden I feel very near to heaven. I should like to write a lovely bit about summer evenings, but now my Mom is chomping at the bit to have the computer, so I must go.

MINE

This is my blog now. Mine. No touchie!!!! See, I marked it as MINE. I don't want to see any post by billybob whosit, or that person, or anything like that. It's mine. When I feel like it maybe I'll post some poetry. What, you want some now? You dare question my authority on MY blog? Oh, well, if you're going to beg, I suppose I could deign to post something for you. After all, I DID put poetry in the title.


Reflecting in my rain-decked roses,
Thoughts of what I used to be.
Misty thoughts of people, places,
Wreathing o'er my chamomile tea.
Into the sunset riding Kismet,
I think of things I think will be.
In many ways I am unshelled,
Delicate for all to see
Tender places unencumbered,
Exposed the hidden veils of Me.
Barnacles encrusting though,
Old wounds buried three plus three
Draping over, surely dead,
I ams I thought to ever flee.
I gaze now down the mirrored halls,
My future what I wish to see,
Knowing I can, one and only,
Influence what is to be.