Harvest

The sun sets upon the glassy horizon
of still mirrored water, reflecting the sky,
the leaves are all turning to colors of burning
cherry, canola, and blossoming fire.
The flowers all faded where the sun was not shaded
and there's barely a whisper of wind to be felt,
the harvest draws nigh as the summer's gone by
and there's the fragrance of tender cut grass to be smelled.
Butterflies flutter by on the breath of the shadows
as they lengthen and lay down their heads on the ground,
fireflies come awake as the sky turns to midnight
and the night comes alive as they flitter around.

Fallen song

A song is falling from the clouds,
as children die among the crowds,
their laughter lay's it's wearied head
upon the streets their feet once tread.
Their blood runs cold upon the ground
while the smell of death creeps all around.
Homes with loved ones trapped inside,
collapse as children play outside.
Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers,
are crushed beneath with many others,
dust and death choke out the sky
as in a heartbeat, people die.
Babies in their cradles crushed
beneath the ruins cries are hushed,
the song has fallen down to earth,
we contemplate what life is worth.
I hear about their pain and fears,
and watch them weeping through my tears.

The Whooping Crane

A strange song rises into the air,
the song of the whooping crane,
Around in the circle they move gracefully,
a circle inside a circle,
They raise their wings and lift their feet,
their heads rise and fall gently
silently they go around with an awkward grace.
Like outstretched hands,
their wings rise and fall in the motion of the dance,
the inward circle attain a slow frenzy,
then they stop.
The singers join the silent circle,
and the dance begins again,
the setting sun turns white to gold,
Sixteen white shadows dance the dance,
swaying with the grass,
Like captured magic being set free
darkness closes in, yet they continue,
whiter than clouds or lilies,
they dance illuminating the dark,
then in one quick movement,
they are gone,
though their song lingers,
so ends the dance of the whooping crane.

Untrimmed Bouquet

I walked into the kitchen, and found a big bouquet,
of beautiful red roses upon my breakfast tray,
I walked over to find a card and see who they were from,
I wondered how the person knew that I had wanted some.
I reached out to pick one up, (I chose the biggest rose)
But the moment that I took to sniff, it jumped and bit my nose!
I screamed, "AH!" and "Get it off!" though I knew no one was there,
then I leaped back about three feet, and tripped over a chair.
As I wrestled with the rose,
it's jaws still clamped upon my nose,
I heard excited 'aahs' and oohs'
many cheers, and many boo's.
I staggered up and looked around
to see what made this merry sound,
my straining eye fell on the tray,
upon which stood the big bouquet.
The roses were all jumping up and rattling their leaves,
then I saw the biggest rose was tearing up my sleeves,
I jerked it off and held it out...as far out as I could,
then I dropped it on the table where it fell upon the wood.
I stared at all the roses, and they stared back at me,
their champion was down and out as far as they could see.
Then everything was chaos, and roses were everywhere,
as if seeing their champion beaten down was more than they could bear.
Suddenly the champ was came to! He leaped up from his fall,
he wrapped himself around them to make sure he had them all,
He pulled them away from the edge, then turned and looked at me,
then leaped onto the windowsill, then out, and they were free!
The last glimpse I saw of the roses, was really quite a sight,
like watching a little garden jumping up and taking flight.
And I have never seen a rose, quite like those again,
but I've heard of several incidents from among my friends.
We tell our children tales, and weave stories about the rose,
and warn them all that if they're bad, it might just bite their nose.

Soldiers Thoughts

I long to go where wind won't blow,
where silence rains like dust,
where old decay will rot away,
and beauty turns to rust.
Underground they sleep so sound
upon their beds of earth,
the dead sleep on though all around,
the world weeps for all she's worth.
The soldiers life is hard to live
and no one thinks about
all the tears, fears, pain and dread
we could have lived without.
We try to win the battles,
bring the dead back home,
drag the wounded men away
and listen to them moan.
We wonder what it would be like
to be found among the dead,
upon the bloody fields of war
with a bullet through your head.
And upon that burning field,
the battle raging on,
your friends would slowly realize your dead,
you've passed, you're gone.
But you, your eyes would never see,
the noise would all have died,
you would never hear again
though cannons choke the sky.
And you would never even know,
who, or what went wrong,
you'd only be another man,
undoubtedly passed on.