Son I'm writing this poem
When you at my waist...
known quantity bereft of quality;
a name of little beyond its letters...
She's not pretty like most girls
Of course, physically she'd have you entranced...
A violin string calls
From a chord pressed...
I see all of me in you
Blue eyes, fair hair, full lips...
A get-together on Sunday past
Dinner eaten way too fast...
I was logging in
Facebook I had a...
I sometimes wonder what life has been about
Maybe I'm just too old fashioned...
Memories replay
Inevitable bad days...
Mom, your love is a mystery:
How can you do it all...
The day you came into the world
Is the day I became a man...
A picnic on the edge of forest of pines,
Patches flowers bloom as the warm sun shines...