that were getting hard.
The sun almost down and it’s getting late.
As I walked in the now and opened the gate.
Followed the creek still flowing free.
Then came upon just the right tree.
Cut at the trunk down low.
Till the tree toppled on the snow.
Beside the log fire in this room.
I swept the corner with the broom.
Brought in the bucket and tree using some might.
Stood the tree straight in the firelight.
Put on tinsel and lights of this and that kind.
Then sat by the fire with resting thoughts in mind.
Through the window the stars send their light.
The house is bright and warm on this good night.
Light and Stars
The suns a star with light. That’s what they say.
But of how it shines or starts we know no way.
So of this we don’t know a lot.
The planets were stars but now they’re not.
We hear the stars started long ago.
But of time and works we don’t know.
The light we see as we must.
It is this that we can trust.
Now comes the thought you have to bare.
Maybe the stars were never there.
Under the Trees
Along the path in the woods,
Red and white flowers stand.
Among decaying wood,
Two leave plants are growing.
On the rotting trunk,
Growing mushrooms appear.
From the rotting hunk,
Wood dust settles near.
Sun shines less bright.
Winds cool the air.
Clouds shade the light.
Rain drops rest there.
Rain falls from the sky.
Plants turn their leaves.
Rain falls from up high.
Flowers lean in the breeze.
Rain and wind go their way.
Sunshine lights the ground.
Among flowers and leaves.
Two leave plants are growing.
It’s Summer
In the bushes, crickets are chirping.
The sun is down in the western sky.
Two birds fly by.
Above the grass, lighting bugs are flashing.
Birds are picking at the ground a lot.
A squirrel is eating an apricot.
A slice of the moon is shining.
The colors of the day are starting to fade.
The green dims in each grass blade.
The hot day ends and it’s time to cool down.
The leaves are still.
Maybe it will.
The Garden is Growing
In the garden the raindrops almost stop.
The corn is six foot with tassels standing` on top.
Beans are growing climbing up their wire.
Reaching to the corn and higher.
The corn is taller than in the lasts years.
One stalk is black and has no ears.
Below gourds are crawling on the ground.
One vine grabs a corn leaf and grows around.
Raindrops thump the leaves, much louder now.
The garden grows. It knows how.
Christmas Eve Tree
I went out the back door into the yard.
Among the drifts that were getting hard.
The sun just down and it was late.
As I walked out the gate.
I Followed the creek still flowing free.
And came to just the right tree.
I Cut at the tree down low.
Till it toppled on the snow.
Beside the log fire in this room.
I swept the corner with the broom.
Brought in the tree using some might.
Stood it straight in the firelight.
From the attic, put there last year,
I fetched the boxes and sat them near.
Within are decorations of different types.
Angels, stars and snowmen with pipes.
There are lights and globes and tinsel by yards.
And near the corner are some old Christmas cards.
Pictures of skating girls and boys.
And children playing with toys.
The tree is trimmed for tonight.
The wood fire is burning bright.
It’s heat, for the cold night it will be.
It’s light, reflecting off the tree.
Village Beneath
From the window of the train.
Past the station with a wreath.
Down the snow covered lane.
The village sits beneath.
Past the shops with snow on roofs.
A horse gallops pulling a sled.
Leaving tracks of horses hoofs.
Beside lamp poles wrapped in red.
In front of the general store.
A girl sits on a bale.
She walks to the door.
And inside gets the mail.
Below a ringing church bell.
A man drags a green tree.
Turns at the corner well.
To the house where it will be.
Three boys over yond.
Along the slope of the bank.
Slide in silence to the pond.
On a smoothed curved plank.
On a turned over boat.
A dog lays and waits.
While a boy in a coat.
Puts on his skates.
The train pulls out of town.
Past a Christmas lit pine.
Around the corner and down.
Leaving the village behind.
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