Above the stars will meet,
Much to talk but see sweet.
Walk upon the cloudy stairs,
Be gentle with lovely flowers.
On the hill, between trees,
Come close, sing with me,
Pretty life, I lived with you,
Last wind sharing with you.
Down grass, up the moon,
Come close, sing with me,
Oh, my love, I will miss you,
So holding hands with you.
It's the last night, counting stars,
Come close, sing with me,
Moments are memories now,
Life is just about me and you.
Above the stars will meet,
Much to talk but see sweet.
Walk upon the cloudy stairs,
Be gentle with lovely flowers.
He walked her in and backed her chair,
He brushed her cheek and touched her hair,
They did not see me sitting there; alone.
A tiny table just for two,
He smiled into her eyes of blue,
I kept my tears from breaking through; alone.
He reached across and took her hand,
Now this was more than I could stand,
Just take the exit I had planned; alone.
But I was frozen to this sight,
Of true love on this chilly night,
They never knew my envied plight; alone.
This small café once knew our name,
We did those things, we felt the same,
Now I’m a stranger to this game; alone.
At last they did vacate their space,
Another couple took their place,
No more of this scene could I face; alone.
I walked into the dreary night,
The road ahead no end in sight,
You’re gone and now I face this fight; alone.
Beside the lane outside of town,
There on the grass up on the ground,
I gently lay your flowers down; alone.
Then back home to my humble lair,
With memories of you everywhere,
I’ll think of you and we’ll be there; alone.
georgiaHendrixshockley
dancin' in Puddles
sometimes getzya wet
with elements worthy
tho oft taught discouragely.
I like mud 'tween my toes
Don't like grass up my nose
Grasshoppers are cool
So is old school
And new school is too
believe it or not
more pends on the care tos
than clutchin to..... whot?
A long drive down the Central Valley,
cool then warm, the kind of day in March
when the season can go either way,
back to winter or ahead to spring;
a day that draws new grass up
in unplowed fields and hazes the distance
silver.
And here we are at last
at our motel, the one that welcomes
“one small pet.” I take our young Shepherd
to the doggy corner,
and for the first time Cowboy lifts his leg,
as old dog Taco used to do
against this very cottonwood.
And then he turns
and watches me with the old dog’s gaze.
The tepid air, no longer winter
and not quite spring, takes me
back to walking other dogs
between hedge and freeway fence.
Dogs now dead look me in the eye
in the guise of this new Cowboy.
And I don’t know where
this can take me
except the lonely gap in the fence
where drifters slip
from southbound lane to shrubbery,
past the long-haul truckers,
out of here by dawn,
and all the other chances
of losing, leaving, and moving on.
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