This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

First snow of the season Came down light and gay, With it’s bright white, Reflecting, Off slow moving clouds

Walking on the beach of long ago, the constant roll of the gulf, it’s sound, like a lullaby.

The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,

Squirrels with bushy orange tails leap about the deck. Crickets hum, confused that it’s not dark yet. The caw of a blue jay

The buck in the garden Chewing up hard earned Labor, His antlers raise, His ears perk up, as

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

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

In the blink of an eye It’s a different scene On the big movie screen So easy to get absorbed In the story line of time.

Sometimes wonder about a star, way afar. How life might be in outer space,

Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face

The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles

Sitting on the lake shore, Which made my heart soar, The water rippled at times, Swirled into beautiful lines, Clouds reflected in it’s mirror,

Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,

In the noble purpose of my life, In the clear and quiet chamber Of my soul, In the open and warm cave Of my heart,