Yellow roses
Sometimes turn black
When the person who loves them
Gets thrown off track

How does this happen?
The answer's unknown
One reason might be
The crow hasn't flown

Crows are smart birds
Knowing how to deceive
If they feel at home
They'll choose not to leave

As scavengers
They devour their food
With non-picky taste buds
Their habits are crude

Gardens can't bloom
If crows eat the seeds
They don't give a damn
Just think of their needs

Hello Friends
It has been a while
I am not sure I have
Much to offer

Not sure if you
Remember who i am
A lot has happened
Since I left
I am not the same

But are we really ever the same
We evolve with time and changes
Good or bad
We live, we learn, sometimes we learn again

A bitter cold mid-winter night
wind howling in the eaves;
tired eyes blur this old man's sight.
Of distant youth he grieves.

The heater helps beat back the chill
yet he shivers all the same
as memories remind him, still
of freezing mornings seeking game.

Mornings so cold the frost would jack
and rise up with a squeaky sigh
in air that had gone nearly slack.
No cloud marred the cobalt sky.

These nights are lit by the fires of coals,
so said a tragic lover of macabre translations

But here, the night is a quiet shoal,
that ebb tides good and slow
through my window

Letting loose the music, on the wing,
to fly in here, not mournful nor
melancholy

No, it is slowly rising up,
through the sick street vapours
into chilled air of evening stilled

The shared azure blue that met and mingled
in eyes till twilight, transmuted in silence sung