My Lover My Friend LYRIC
I wrote you a love song
Lying in a garden grove
Where birds flew free
And flowers bloomed
I watched the sky
As cloud rolled by
And waited patiently
For you to arrive
I sang a melody
So pure and true
And wrote a choirs
With words of truth
And when you arrived
I kissed your lips
And gave you a promise
Of love I confessed
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My friend My Lover
Let's pave the way
To stay together
Tell our dying days
My friend My Lover
Endless and Forever
You are my priceless
Loving treasure
Soft serenade in a sanctuary of velvet dream
Lovely hues in luminesce blooms dance a meloncholy breeze
Dreamy and surreal
A sanctuary of dewdrops
Slide down a bent branch to redeem
Tranquil turquoise touch rich amber
Leading to a garden grove
Posies sway in an orchestrated ballad
As two bluebirds flutter and float
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Young one full of dreams
eyes wide with intrigue
peers from a window
with joy
As grammar sits quiet
threading a needle...
I’m Cindy Mae, come walk today
among my village of snow-people and play
with my Billy goat, Fagan and I;
just outside of the red barn, it lies.
I built it with my own two hands,
with smiles, cold fingers, I now stand,
among snow-babies, pure and white;
I must name them all, before the fall of night.
Oh Fagan, Fagan, what shall we call them?
They’re all so very cute and prim.
I’ll name one Billy, one Fagan, after you;
another after my new baby sister, Sue.
As these snow-stars continue to fall,
it makes me think of cotton balls;
I’ll name one Cotton, one Q-tip,
those two, I will name Chip and Skip.
Oh Fagan, aren’t they wonderful?
This day, I have just had a ball.
Now there’s two more that need a name;
I know, I’ll call them, John and James.
Those are my cousins who’ve never seen snow;
they reside in California, in Garden Grove.
Fagan I’ve worked up an appetite,
and Mom’s making warm stew tonight!
His Iris Dance
He's met a flower
inside of her garden grove
sweet lullabies mount
connie pachecho
6/13/17
Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?
For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.
From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.
As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heaven's throne.
The garden where I could suppose,
I loved a little flower
with scented leaves, but not a rose,
a wasted childhood hour.
Among the blooms of regal love
a violet had my heart;
she hid within the garden grove
where salad leaves depart.
She shined beneath the window box
within my hideaway
a glimpse of blue by clustered phlox
and I would stay all day.
My pride and joy in this wee plot,
I'd sit and watch her grow,
impatient child who sulked a lot
but sat through wind and snow
And smiled into the summer sun
when first a bud appeared
a burst of blue would soon be done
once more my heart was cheered.