We will embrace it steadfastly,
safeguard it from strong winds,
support it when heavy rains
drench and weigh it down.
We will shield it from winter snows,
lift it beyond reach of
those who might destroy it,
oblivious to its worth.
We will surround it with new growth,
conceal it with soft green leaves
as our branches wake up
in the warm springtime air.
We await your return
with your sweet songs renewed.
We’ll relinquish our charge back to you
as the precious cycle
begins anew.
is it haiku or just seventeen syllables lined up in three rows
Sometimes,
facing life’s challenges
makes you feel as though
you’re trying to fit
through the eye of a needle.
The way to make it through is
one thread at a time.
Daily Post weekly photo challenge: Eye Spy
serendipity: uncoincidentally coincidental
I’m counting my blessings, and giving thanks for all. I hope you, too, find much in your life for which to be thankful.
frost on glass canvas nature’s fleeting art display melts with dawn's warm touch
Unrest amidst these recent ruins,
abandoned shells of concrete rooms;
gray walls, gray clouds, gray misted woods,
dampened air of palpable gloom.
Who walks along these musty halls?
Whose shadows flit across the walls?
A voice from sometime far away…
whose name is it he softly calls?
Whispered tales of haunting ghosts:
a soldier loathe to leave his post,
a submariner from World War Two
who shelled this battery from off the coast.
Strange sightings, chills, and eerie sounds.
Some say a night watchman guards the grounds,
an infantryman from the Civil War,
lantern swinging as he makes his rounds.
Whoever within these walls abide,
be they visiting spirits from the other side,
or mere figments of imaginative minds,
I leave it for you to weigh and decide.
Battery Russell is located in Fort Stevens State Park on the Oregon Coast. For more information about the history of the fort, please visit the Friends of Old Fort Stevens website.
who knows how or why what we plan when young seldom is where we end up
sadness descending sometimes cold fog enwraps me sometimes a warm shawl
Mannequins in the window
ungainly plastic poses
frozen faces void of expression
Unmoving and unmoved
as I walk past, and yet
I find discomfort in the notion that
perhaps their unseeing eyes
are somehow
watching me
What Rhymes with Stanza? 