When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.

Holiday cheer and laughter, Multicolored lights blink faster, Music of love and good will, Grace the air like snowflakes. Tis the season to be compassionate…

Photos are all I have At times, Of smiling familiar faces, My family spread out. I would travel often

In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,

Orange full moon with a half smile, a hanging lantern, lighting the way, through dark streets,

When I grow really old I may have to do yoga Full time, to get out The aches and creaks. When I grow really old

Life is like a dream A star studded sky A blink of an eye Oh, how life slips by. Life is like a song

Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion

The wind went through me, it carried the yellow, orange and red leaves lightly on the air. Another change is coming,

Pale blue moon Of August, Peeking behind The clouds, Luminous,

The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes

The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down

Rolling painted deserts of the west. Shrub bushes dot sloping hillsides. Relentless sun heats up

When you are not here An empty heart full of fear Arises and wonders If I will see you again. What will I do without