I love these days that wander in-
Softer now, like an age-old friend
that without a word, I somehow know
is here to share my wealth and woe.

I love these days- the colors pure-
Like masterpieces they endure
And paint a rainbow in the trees
that whispers with each gentle breeze.

I love these days- the nights of skies
that glisten with a million eyes-
Of stars I still do wish upon
As I watch my life continue on...

I love these days- I treasure all
the secrets of the coming Fall.
I hold on tight and cannot let go-
For I am
so afraid
of snow...

Two Faced

I'm a little girl again-
(I pretend)-
Lift the weight of the world
off my shoulders
And then...
Open my eyes
to days that have been-
Open the door to my dreams
and walk in.

I'm a little girl again-
(I pretend)-
I'm back in my blue cotton dress
and then-
swinging slowly at first
until I begin
To touch the clouds with my toes-
With my tongue,
touch the wind.

I'm a little girl again-
(In my mind)-
Where life is soft
and real and kind-
Where I never measure
age or time-
Inside my secret world
I climb.

Then I must come back
and be
the person people
see in me.
So I shut the door
so carefully-

And pretend I'm a woman again...

August 1975

I remember watching you
From across the dusty room-
One June day
when they
were out of beer.
I painted mental pictures
of every smile you wore-
and memorized the shadows
on your hair.

Then one night
beneath the silver summer stars
You touched my life
like no one has before.
I'm glad that I was ready-
waiting when you came-
Willing then
to open any door.

What I have to give you
Are only simple things-
Winter dreams
and songs I sing inside.
Time that never stops-
Hopes that never go-
And gentle love
that's much too strong to hide.

And if love could be measured
simply by miles-
No place would prove too far.
My love for you
would reach the moon-
and every heart
of every star.

I love you.
I love you beyond imagining...

Mama's Hands

Even though the years have passed,
I recall my Mama's hands then-
The tiny lines so deeply pressed
into her leathered skin.


Age and time and work had left
their memories behind.
I studied well
the hands so frail
that she cradled within mine.


I thought her old- although she wasn't-
But I felt sorry, none the less-
That she had the hands
that held the scars
Of too much time and stress.


Now that I'm no longer young,
I see the years take hold-
Time and pain and memories-
Like clay- my hands they mold.


But time passes in a silent way
that no one understands.
I suddenly looked at myself today-

I have my Mama's hands.