I remember one night, the old man came home...
so being eight i didn't think,and all we had to...

I write poetry , for all to read
comes from the heart, makes me bleed...

Standing in the rain as it pours on my head
thinking about all the things i said...

Like the sun, that comes up over the tree's
and the wind, as it blows a gentle breeze...

I walk the fields were we use to play
the trees that were there are all gone...

Today, I just sat and cried
remembering the day, that Dale died...

I sat by a creek bank, just the other day
watching the water, carry a leaf away...

Sitting on the back porch
watching lighting in the sky...

I use to lay in my bed every night
and cry when they turn out the light...

I think of all the things
that go through ones mind...

In a world of darkness
alone in his own pain...

To a heart that is wonderful and always beats true
I'm so happy that I found, a love as special as...