Welcome to My Poetry Site
Las Perdidos a Texas
My little pied-a-terre
It's my beautiful little place in heaven,
in acres, it's less than twenty seven.
Lots of rocks and even gravel,
but not one square foot of it is level.
Cliche here and cedar there,
prickly pear, enough to share.
The essence of cedar elm trees,
with tiny blossoms, that attract the bees.
Live oak trees, and Spanish too,
Mountain Laurel, with flowers so blue.
Flowers here and flowers there,
give off a scent that fills the air.
Grazing the brush are many deer,
they can be approached, they do not fear.
Coons, 'dillos, and ring tail cats,
and in the evening, darting bats.
Porcupines, and squirrels, up in a tree,
but they are scared of you and me.
Beautiful Red fox, jack rabbits too,
in fact the place looks like a zoo.
And all the birds too many to count,
on every open space, that they mount,
and in the spring it's here they fly,
filling every spot, of my deep blue sky.
I must not miss the bubbling stream,
cut through the limestone like a dream.
So many fish swim all around,
living their lives without a sound.
I love this place, hill, dell and stream,
to live in peace is just my dream.
And when I die, I want to be,
buried here, under a live oak tree.
It's my beautiful little place in heaven,
in acres, it's less than twenty seven.
Lots of rocks and even gravel,
but not one square foot of it is level.
Cliche here and cedar there,
prickly pear, enough to share.
The essence of cedar elm trees,
with tiny blossoms, that attract the bees.
Live oak trees, and Spanish too,
Mountain Laurel, with flowers so blue.
Flowers here and flowers there,
give off a scent that fills the air.
Grazing the brush are many deer,
they can be approached, they do not fear.
Coons, 'dillos, and ring tail cats,
and in the evening, darting bats.
Porcupines, and squirrels, up in a tree,
but they are scared of you and me.
Beautiful Red fox, jack rabbits too,
in fact the place looks like a zoo.
And all the birds too many to count,
on every open space, that they mount,
and in the spring it's here they fly,
filling every spot, of my deep blue sky.
I must not miss the bubbling stream,
cut through the limestone like a dream.
So many fish swim all around,
living their lives without a sound.
I love this place, hill, dell and stream,
to live in peace is just my dream.
And when I die, I want to be,
buried here, under a live oak tree.
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Las Perdidos a Texas
Las Perdidos a Texas
