old uncle johnny!
his back is slightly bent,
coming down fast
across the tessellated pavement;
a gentle giant,
quick with a funny tale,
tight in his hugs,
he's drunk with a little ale;
his hair have gone gray,
and limbs gone a little taut,
but he can dance well
and run without getting caught;
his clothes are shabby
and the trousers far too tight,
he never changes them,
they stay on day and night;
long ago in youth,
he frittered away all his goods,
and subsisted since,
on quick wit and hen of the woods;
always on his own,
he has survived on these hills,
changing for his needs,
his specialties and skills;
lived on by betting,
or at times by teaching kids,
at others by selling,
storage containers with lids;
old uncle johnny,
oh he has gathered no friends,
but in every mind,
he will stay on without end;
for he is jolly,
and quick with a funny tale,
he's tight in his hugs,
and drunk just a little with ale.

A little girl,
alone in the snow,
a photograph in her boot,
a tear on her cheek,
the face long gone,
the eyes forgotten,
denial and doubt overpower,
faith turns meek.

Athletes,
writers,
musicians, doctors,
minds quick and bodies were swift,
races and writings,
and tunes and care,
all were truly heaven's gift.
All were to have their share of dreams,
but stopped they were,
'twas nineteen thirty eight,
they could not see tomorrow's dawn,
for their dreams it was just too late.

And there they were,
all were there,
one beside another,
resting in snow,
lifeless forms,
not breathing,
not sleeping,
frozen forms,
lying row on row.

The loss of freedom,
the loss of home,
all but a speck in the loss of the dear,
her mother's eyes,
once live now still,
the girl's eyes,
now gripped with fear.
Her gaze,
now rooted in place,
fixed upon the lifeless sight,
footsteps sound,
they come at once,
Bang!
No darkness,
no light.

a warm wind blew swift,
while in a grove he sat reclin'd,
a presence disturbed him with joy,
bringing pleasant thoughts to his mind.

and then he saw a lady fair,
come riding down by the sycamore tree,
genteelly he pulled off his hat,
and pronounced getting down on his knee,

'hail to thee, o lady of heaven,
such beauty in dreams can only be'
he looked up and saw shining eyes
in a distance, to follow gestured she.

she took flight and went forward,
while on a courser followed he,
and to the heaven's fair works,
his human soul linked she.

if ever he saw a blessing,
he saw it then as clear as day,
and felt as if his tired heart,
returned home after being long away.

a fine land, he thought he was in,
he felt he had been here before,
where men may lie at rest,
and revive their feet gone sore.

apple orchards blossomed there,
trees swayed in the breezy air,
the budding sprigs sprung forth,
and played noisily without care.

pure in the haze the emerald sun waned,
it's heat first scarlet then vermilion,
a coolest green the grass was,
it poured forth ample wine Dionysian.

linnets and thrushes were in full song,
hopping and playing in the meadow around,
fluting from nests up in the trees,
and his youth and love were again found.

the young wheat was green and fresh,
rabbits ran within silken swards,
the air whistled within the meadow,
striking in the heart a dulcet chord.

wild bees and noisy grasshoppers,
they spread their wings in the spring,
flying to vibrant flowery wreaths,
producing sights that made him sing.

and he knew the intent of his reverie,
brought about by the divine hand,
and he closed his teary eyes,
and opened them back in his land.

this belief he set in his heart,
that beings were linked in one soul,
and that blended sights and sounds,
made this world one and whole.

and thus he heard in his own land,
the same blended fluting song,
and saw the same blossoming twigs,
and he rested his heart after long.

Let fall, the dew of love,
in my garden,
for each moment rains,
with the shadows of death.
This ink of life,
pierces my eyes.
Who is here? Who will tell me?
For how long will I seek the path of light?
No one, there is no one.
Not near, not far.
There is, but one love,
my heartbeat,
still loving.
There is but one life,
still living;
It drinks blood in every sip.
These eyes,
still dreaming.

This night of life,
wears the blanket of mist,
veiling countless secrets,
in this frigid tryst.
These yodels of a limpid loch,
and the fair grass green,
get lost in the taste of this chill.
In this chill,
travelers face their debilities,
but sometimes with their real strengths meet.
The perfume this darkness wears,
this sweet scent of frost;
It lingers for a moment's joy,
in a moment's sadness getting lost.
These lamps, remote, unseen,
they submit to the monopoly of the night.
The darkness makes me see,
the dawn that is to come,
there will come a change in me,
and changed this world will become.

Now I know, it is now I realized,
that there is hidden,
a fire somewhere in me.
The dawn is now come, I am awake.
Scorched by my own light, I am,
as if there were a sun in me.
All around me there is light, I see.
The missing dreams return to me, bring me from doom.
They return to me,
and they bloom.
They return that love,
my heartbeat,
still loving.
The life returns,
still living.
Opening to a new world,
these eyes,
still dreaming.