Her voice sheds my gloom/
like the red-winged blackbird’s song/
pierces misty dawns.

If you let me,
I shall write you poetry
worthy to interest and woo
even the most cynical vous.

And, if you’ll pardon,
I can help in your garden,
where, together, we’ll till the dirt
until our rough and dirty fingers hurt.

Then we’ll take the spoils
of our sweated, painful toils
and with the results of harvest,
create results that rival chefs’ best.

All the while your mind will be lifted
as your ears and soul with poetry are gifted.

If someone says ‘I /
will’, and then they don’t, that means,/
usually, they won’t.

Even Okies say/
I’m heading to the ugly/
part. I dont see it.

Just because you don’t/
answer doesn’t mean I don’t /
worry about you.

If she won’t meet you/
half way, don’t even think of/
going all the way!

Ironic that in /
Stillwater I am wearing /
orange underwear.

I watched an egret/
land in a prairie pond. He/
lifted my spirit.