A Sonnet For Denise

Dandelion Seeds

Her little fingers hold the stem so light,

A puff of hope just waiting for its day,

She dreams of joys to be, with eyes shut tight,

And blows the seeds, which pirouette away.

Her heart’s white wishes, in the dance of time,

Are tossed and lost to fields of thorned regret,

But others fly from past till now, and I’m,

A witness to her seedling’s minuet.

I cannot catch them in my hands so rough,

But when I kiss her face and see her smile,

The music of the spheres stops long enough,

For one to stop and rest a little while,

My love’s great work is that I may bestow,

A home for tiny seeds blown long ago.

A Poem for my Father

Fathers and Sons

Waves  are  crashing  on  the  shore,

Rivers  racing  evermore;

Boys  are  running  every  day;

To  try  their  hand  at  father’s  chore.

Skies are  dripping  wisdom’s  thoughts,

Seeds  are  growing  into  crops;

The  eyes  of  youth  are  tilting  up,

Learning  more  than  what  is  taught.

Mountains  are  mourning  loss  of  glory,

Builders  taking  from  the  quarry;

Sons are  growing  in  their  skin,

Bodies  tell  their  father’s  story.

Craftsmen  are  carving with strokes of time,

Marble’s  grain  dictates  the  line;

Children’s  hearts  bear  fixed  runes,

Pointing  to  their  true  design.

Wind  is  blowing  ‘cross  the  field,

Summer’s  stem  brings  forth  its  yield;

Boys  are  growing  into  men,

Whispered  counsel  all  revealed.