“‘ere your current bun”
What! my son...

I forged a vow to my love, my lady
justice and revenge, for the woeful...

Your charming presence
swept the air, when you...

Nightmares
reoccurring...

We each have a story to tell,
whether mighty or somewhat frail...

A delicate touch
fingertips turn green to gold...

Through my window,
I watch leaves cascading...

Life has ups and downs
just like a roller coaster...

The smell of milk which spills from troubled hands
brings floods of tears to eyes that shouldn’t...

I would love Sunday afternoon
when Granny would...

Lying on my bed of dread
alone...

Such pain and loss, in all such war
I see no god, upon our shore...