From Pen And Brush
At times, the mind speaks forth its pleasure
And clothes its thoughts in pigment or in rhyme.
The artists leaves the world her painted treasure,
Fair sculpture, music and her songs divine.
Under the pines, near the murmuring brook,
I know the wild orchids grow,
Fair and pure in their shady nook,
A page in God's own wonderful book
Under the sunset's golden ray,
Yonder mountain, green and gray,
Transforms to a delicate purple hue,
Then, subtly fading out of view,
'Still sits the schoolhouse by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning,
Around it still the sumacs grow
And blackberry vines are running.'
Crispy air and azure skies,
High above, a white cloud flies,
Bright as newly fallen snow.
Oh the joy to those who know October!
The Red God's Band
They say that life's just what we make it.
Each one guides the course of his soul:
From the childhood port to the harbor of death,
We're free to select our own goal.