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World on StringOh little girl with world on string, does itPull you or you pull it? And have you foundThe thing you sought? Or did you puzzle, quitAnd sit down hard and lonesome on the ground?Oh look! I see a wing, and you've stood up!Perhaps you fly, else it's a holy task.You try: attendez-moi! Oh please shut upAnd listen to this child who wants to ask.But now she's mute, intimidated byYour crude and violent ways; you don't respectThe little ones around the globe so whyBe shocked when they repeat what we expect.Oh little girl, let go this string of sin.As we all know, you cannot pull and win.
I missed you twice todayI missed you once, I missed you twice today.Sometimes I understand the need to disappear.I know the reasons that you went away.The game is up; but you can't reappear.Psychology can tell me why you leftAnd what had happened deep in childhood pastAnd how bereaved, you leave me now bereft.You paid; I've paid and wept and wailed and gnashed.To say that lessons can be learned is old.Prevention too is likely to be heard.I looked aroundthere's no one here to scold.Explaining this would border on absurd.I missed you twice, I missed you thrice today.My life moves on but missing you will stay.
Repeated blows to your sweetRepeated blows to your sweet soul have leftIt thin like pie crust rolled with rolling pin.To keep it whole at least no further cleftWe do not poke or jab your gentle skin.We dare not speak of hazards, crime or storms.We do not talk of illness or disease.We keep our tones to dulcet ones, our formsOf speech polite, and never swear or sneeze.But something tells me you're not fooled by this.You know there's no way out of life but death,And what has happened must be seen as is.I watch you every day and hold my breath.Can there be strength without deep calluses?Or must the skin lose feeling, end caress.
Still so sad for Harry SnowI'm still so sad today for Harry SnowAlthough he'd still be dead if life were kind.He died in eighteen-eighty-two you knowAnd read those books and had a keener mind.So precious was his life to friends and kinAt twenty-six plus three months and six days,They built a monument of stone withinThese gates with books of stone to show his ways. He must have read Tom Sawyer but not Huck;He could have read the Prince and Pauper too.There isn't time to read them all but stuckIn time could be a monument for you:Imagine, you could leave behind your listOf all the best books you had read, they'd missed.
I wish that you could seeI wish that you could see the paint when new,The bow, the rails, the hull, the engine loud,The sweat, the effort long, duration fewIn years compared to expectations proud.And just today I saw your neck, your face,The summer sunburns left their heavy linesAnd spots and freckles show like skin's own lace.Just living makes us pay these yearly fines.But surely boats can get a new paint coat,Extending life of metal things, but don't.These objects won't get fixed, they'll never float,And we who can't be fixed wish can't were won't.Believe in things not seen that did not last,It takes a lot of faith to see the past.
Relationships begin with need
You know I love the treesYou know I love the trees, I love the trees,And while they stand I would not chop them downI love their height, the shape, the leaves, the breeze.To waste more paper always makes me frown.I swear I have recycled all I can:The magazines, the junk mail, newsprint too;The catalogs, the envelopes, the spam,With paper I have squandered very few.You may recall that last year I did tryTo make the e-card something fun to send.The electronic phase I really buy.Let's all be green! The excess waste should end!May trees forgive me, don't let guilt redound,For paper calls this year with Christmas 'round.
You do not excite much anymoreYou don't excite much anymore I've seen.You're too afraid to laugh and have it turnedTo sorrow moments after you have beenThrown off your guard. You're someone who's been burned.The blunted affect sometimes seems so wise,Like someone who considers before talk.The thoughtful glance, the wan but knowing guiseYou never run or skip but only walk.I'm not for smearing all the feeling squish Across my sleeve. But doesn't feeling riseSometimes and in that moment don't you wishTo tell, relieve your thoughts, give them surprise?That's what I thought. You keep your counsel safe.I'll never know your mind, the burn, the chafe.
If one year mattersIf one year matters,Every day must matter too.Happy year and day!