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Personal Note:

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Poem

Princess of the Prairie, with hair of golden flax,
smiling from a picture frame, looking through the cracks.
You grew up on a farm, not far from Saskatoon,
close to Joni Mitchell, under a harvest moon.
It was four strong winds that blew you to L.A.
I was eighteen when I met you. I well remember it today. 
Fortunate was I, that those cold winds were blowing,
a vision of serenity, your long gown was flowing. 
The sweetheart of the rodeo, laughing like the sun,
you shined happiness on everything and everyone.
Your generosity was endless.  I had no place to stay.
You had no problem at all, taking in this stray. 
When I found my own place, my memory is certain, 
it was dear you who sewed my bedroom curtains.
You were on easy terms, with people, animals, and plants, 
charming everything alive, they didn't have a chance.
We shared a special night that stands out as unique - 
your tickets to Peter Paul and Mary at the Greek.  
Your picture's peaceful presence, as I drink tea, all curled,
radiates your connection to the spiritual world.  
You were like a friend, a sister, or a girl next door, 
gazing at your photo, I wonder why not something more.
Princess of the Prairie, with hair of golden flax,
I wonder why it was, that never did I ask.

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