So-called Lady Luck, post your impulse rounds:
Tell where next goes your famed Midas touch;
Where in the days near shall your wild leg lead
The favored donees of your capricious search?
Against your impulse-urged turns I got a gripe:
For men your random wanderings widely hype,
Yet you little care that faithful mortals adore
Your all-clandestine cycle and surprise galore.
And as for your epoch-honored bestowments:
Say what obscure merit-scores you rely upon
To amply pamper one and sorely deny another,
Spurning toiling orphans to gift a nabob's son.
False-hallowed Mistress of Fate I fault, again:
Now reward fans who rock themslves insane
As they pay hugely appeasing homage to you,
Pleading that you apportion many and not few.
Until you grant lowly lips that crave your gold,
I said and again will say that you're not a god!
To give is good, most would agree,
When helping poor feel more secure.
A splendid thing's philanthropy,
Though motives are not always pure.
We seldom sacrifice at all,
Our charity, when we accede,
Is excess money we withdraw.
We rarely give what we may need.
Our gifts put donees in our debt.
As time goes by, they often learn
That benefactors don't forget
And may want something in return.
Some donors want their giving known,
Refusing anonymity.
When placed on plaques or carved in stone,
Their names remain for all to see.
These measures three make giving great:
You give what you cannot afford,
Nobody need reciprocate,
And no one knows except the Lord.
Sweet summer how I love you best
with gardens full in bloom
warmth of your morning day besets
the promise of cool waters soon
Forward see, I look to thee
cool river to carry away
the toil of a labored week now reached
and set my cares to play
Let me drift upon thy current
as beauty donees your banks
dip my toes a stress adjournment
now fill my dry and empty tank
Ah the heat of summer sun
some would dare complain...
Oh no, not floating wild river while sipping coke' n rum
enjoying blessings that came from long the winter rain
Bear on me the summers heat
turn my skin to bronze
light my locks and bare my feet
tis this season I find most fond
Soon the Autumn days will near
it's cool and hurried winds
bowing stocks of corn by ear
begging to be picked
Then I'll praise the Fall of days
it's country roads of colors changed
I'll heed my naps on bales of hay
dreaming of rivers I wish to wade
Good morning summer's sweetest powers
your brilliant blaze aglow
my thanks for all your fragrant flowers
thy refreshing waters too to dip my weary toes
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