Sitting in the meadow green
I sang a song with a little queen...

When I write of green emeralds
you know my spirit is crying...

She spelled out "Help Me"
on a clouded, mist mirror...

If the morning sun
stopped rising...

I looked into the eyes
of a road map, stained...

This is for all of the writers
who like me, stalk the sidewalks...

He planted a seed in sixty nine
around the time of wood stalk...

Wiped my soul away
crossed scuffed jeans...

The dancing flame,
tween male and female...

I drink coffee, slow
savoring positive words...

I submitted a whisper
upon negativity's ear...

The pit of your eyes
are dark as night...