Here's a poem I had penned eons ago which found it's way into one of the dailies in the country far, far away where I floated around for a while before putting down roots in beautiful Canada.
Before I die:
Want a piece of the sky sprinkled
with the rays of the setting sun,
I will savor it's glory and reserve
it for my eyes only
Want a patch of golden, sandy
shore of evening,
Treasure it I will with everything.
Want the soft sound of the darting, wintry wind,
Wafting ghost-like in my dreams.
Want to see ripples widening in a pond,
Green with reflected trees.
Want to find poetry
In the flight of every beast,
And music even in a rat's squeak.
Want to inhale the perfumed
breath of all flowers
And hold the memory of their petals
in my heart.
Want to see a boisterous brook,
and a mumbling waterfall,
And tell Mother Nature,
I am not blind to her beauty,
Not at all.
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