Did God paint the leaves He must have done Did he bore of their eternal green Look, he even dulled the sky blank grey So the sum of all leaves Would have its day Their yellow, pink, and orange day I wonder if he ever considered another Blue or purple maybe But these are good
Muddy feet are a lot like heights You can’t enjoy ‘em if you’re hanging on too tight
Is life more like this or that? Can you waste it? And where does it go if you do? Does it end up with the asparagus gone bad last week? That’s just death, isn’t it? And death’s just the circle of life, isn’t it? If life is serious then why do we end up like
We talk of dreams turnt to dust But that’s not how it is Dreams are dust Already If the dreamer is dust How much more the dream This Somehow Makes all the dusty dreams Mean so much more Like stardust in your pocket
Life needs no reason to be beautiful We should know that by now Does any other collection of atoms demand this? Does any other creature toil to make it so? And after millennia of failure We stick with our folly No, life just Is Beautiful And one day Should we stop demanding reasons of life
Words are just words They can never be birds And though I love them I must let them go Fall into the heap Of all I’ve ceased to worship They are the playthings Of the thinking brain And their value is only What it is But words are not What it is Not birds Nor
Every day has just enough time We only miss it When we think we matter More than we do
Cold water pond Awake Barefoot over Indian trails Awake The vibrations of nature’s music Awake
My goal If I have one Is to abandon the clock Trash bin with the calendar To wake with the sun Howl with the moon And swim When I damn well please
It’s like I’ve found a magic trick In a coat pocket at the start of winter But then It’s all magic