Am I a spinner of Poetry,
or a weaver of Prose
A seeker of truth,
or a deceiver of both
Is the verse now in conflict,
with the twice written line
Do the feelings transfer,
is their likeness in kind
Do I always remember,
which prayer I must pray
Does the magic get lost,
when the wheat’s in the hay
Am I able to say once,
what I need to say twice
To explain what I’m feeling,
—is the water now ice
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Fresh Promise
Blue skies glisten,
the morning sun kisses
The Robin, announcing
the day
The sweetness of spring,
to all lovers it brings
Renewed wishes,
—the fresh promise of May
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)