Space and time it is said, may have started with a big bang,
it had a beginning and so must also have an end-
which may very well be true for our quaint little universe.

The time I leave behind, to me does not belong-
nor does the time before God placed me here.
The only time that is mine to claim is that
by God fore-ordained.

No man can say, for only God knows why-
one man will live while another will die.
But it is always so on fields of strife-
that some are chosen to lay down their life.

From purple mountains majesty to its oceans white with foam,
this hurting land is crying out for leadership and unity-
This hurting land that bears the guilt-
of unborn child sacrifice-

If you are feeling weak and weary,
with ponderous problems bleak and dreary,
and life's struggles seem not worth the cost,
then count your blessings that God has wrought-

Do paths not followed traverse worlds unseen-
are new ideas not pursued opportunities missed?
I seek the truth- is a thistle flower or thorn?
If a flower-
why is it accursed-
and if a thorn-

The water lay gray and wrinkled like
elephant skin-
swirling mist,
much as smoke from the end of a
cigarette, rises from the water
to greet the new day.

What are the heavenly rewards,
promised by God to the saved?
Who not seeking earthly rewards,
or fleeting personal acclaim,
have worked here on earth to glorify his name.

Time was old horse- when we crossed
the Great Divide, riding east into
prairie land-
a cowhand could ride all day
never seeing house or barbwire fence-

We once were-but are no more-
heroes in the eyes of a child-
heroes that could fix all things.

Dad, It broke- can you fix it?
Sure honey-it’ll only take a little glue-
by tomorrow

I remember the Christmas when you were just three,
and you bounced down the steps with such boundless glee.
How your face lit up with a grin when you saw,

The pungent aroma of apricot, wafts by on the evening breeze,
from somewhere comes the sweet perfume of honeysuckle in bloom.
The stars hang in the summer sky, spreading forth a canopy,

25 June, 1976 - At Little Bighorn Battle Field

When as a young boy attending grade school
and I first learned about Custer's last stand,
why did I experience deja vu

Remnants of last summer's garden
Languish frozen and hidden
Just beyond the tropical plants,
Amaryllis and Orchids,
Blooming inside on the windowsill-
Indoor's warmth belies

While stopped for some fast food and self-serve gas-
I saw her watching me watching her.
She was young- her late teens I guessed.
I did not know her, but I had known other girls-