Photograph..
a thousand words
that come out and play
This picture of
the sun and the moon
and deep knee bends
And river crossings
of skies that
have no ends
Summer morning
frost melting off
every blade of
grass..and the
sweet gentle taste
of dew drops
and butter cups
Never to be out
of step with every
sound of the parade
and so I remote
view you as an
island in the shade
Do you see..what
has become of me
Still the same man
sitting inside sand
baked sunnyside up
And every once in a
while remembering
the days of wasted
youth gone mad
Don't forget..
the Burma Shave..
By Rick Weber
December 23, 2011
copywritten
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