---
with the pause
there is a tear
the faint shade
of hope delayed
where depths unshown
whisk with current fast
and the sound of sweeping
is a sound that’s passed
the bristles have no value now
but the simple week
they are dry and sleep
in a coma of lost creativity
this is what i say
that the art is there
the dreams are fair
and almost spoken is
almost a dare
so leave the dark night
for restless roads
and if sleep will come
well if it might
so there be the dark
before there is light
---

Niiiiiice...........

---
the weather broke
long long ago
and snow and ice
were melted so
that rivulets
were drops that quickly fled
and running courses
to run for rivers wide
and this is the cycle of the seasons
that warm and hot
becomes cold and slow
the slumbered blossom
unfurls a show
and spring is fast
as it is dear
and this is the bloom
of this new year
---

very nice...

both are very good indeed

---
there upon the vast quiet plain
blue skies touch verdant green
for the wild string unridden
so their wave is among the wave
no echoes yet no thundering rush
but out there among the knee high grass
a prairie an eden a lonely gaze
for if they run they could run for days
and all that would be left in sign
is bent stalks and swaying green
---