Our childhood of yesteryear Fresh and innocent with no fear. We waited with bated breath To peek at our cake that arrived fresh. Our birthday cake, our birthday cake. Moist and warm, chocolate brown Cool and pink, strawberry jam winks
From the Rose: Blooming in a bed of thorns Rich colors imbued with jazz Heady fragrance in a sinful dance Riots of confusion crowding the senses Alluring, tempting, trapping… Final swirls into a web of guilty fragrance Can only see
On an Easter Sunday reminiscing histories. Mulling over life’s mysteries recounting old losses reckoning unknown forces. A kindred soul adding warmth and glow. Dispelling the gloom of a sense of impending doom. Once again light and cheer fill the room.