Sunday Morning

The dandelions have gone to seed,
And the neighborhood has gone to hell,
Broken twigs litter the yard,
The post box is filled up to the brim with cards
The old man from down the street,
Lost his wife and thus his ride to church,
And our car still drives just fine,
But Sunday morning is our "sleep in" time,

College

Adventurous archetypes aligned in an arduous assemblage.

A bastion of bemoaned bedraggled yet becoming beatniks.

College

A deluge of desultory dalliances I dare not deign to disclose

Blue Skies

I went to the wild,

But it had been tamed,

I returned to my city,

But it's buildings were maimed,

I prayed to run fast,

But my left leg turned lame,

I waited for praise,

But I got all the blame,

I met a beautiful girl,
And I was never the same,
I thought I was the hunter,
But I was the game,
I searched the whole world,
But all the places were named.
I drempt of blue skies,

But they never came,