I was once something of a pessimist, and that fact did not concern me,
As violet birds are content, to spend their nights in different trees.
Still I had a happy and quiet existence, or at least I thought I did,
Like a moon glimmering all her tranquil life, when reddish sun is hid!
My attitude didn't come from bitterness, I just had an analytical mind;
And like bees searching for nectar, needed all the proof I could find.
But I totally missed the fact, that looking to tomorrow requires faith,
......
I had for long been an arborist, enthusiastically caring for the trees,
Like a grasshopper immersed in a green world, is glad for all he sees.
I had always loved nature, having begun gardening when I was a child,
As bluebirds rise up singing very early, in tangled precincts so wild.
It was foreseeable that this passion, would emerge as my life's work,
As an artist might strive for years, creating a masterpiece artwork!
I was also familiar with various birds, as a result of this vocation,
......
A rich harvest of bliss, in every hue comes drifting down,
Painting the wilderness all colors, in nature's playground!
I was once argumentative, though I am not at all proud of the fact,
I was extremely opinionated, expressing my views with little tact.
It is not that I was malicious, but I really thought I knew it all,
Like the sunset's maximum power, colors skies just before the fall.
Always highly sensitive, to perceived infringements of my rights,
With friends or perfect strangers, I engaged in many verbal fights.
Like a volcano that is always struggling, to keep the fire within,
......
It was late in gorgeous springtime, and I was teaching my class,
A lesson in African history, and the events of time's hourglass.
My fourth graders were very attentive, as I recounted the glory,
Of tales such as Mansa Musa's, maybe the richest man in history!
Sultan of Mali was Mansa Musa, during the far off Middle Ages,
The world's largest gold producers maybe, say the history sages.
When Mali consisted of 400 cities, he was a patron of the arts.
......
Life of an underground lyrical beast looking great
But one can imagine attempting to get the sure rate
To succeed, one's got to really hustle
And, yes, Life is pregnant with some kind of bustle!
Striving makes us great
But, How'd I get there, mate?
Nonstop hustle is, I trust, the sure key
But, first for God, I've got to be on my knee
If not both!
......
Amaryllises fill the flower lover's small, white cottage,
In pinks, apricots and burgundy, near summer's edge.
A rich harvest of bliss, in every hue comes drifting down,
Painting the wilderness all colors, in nature's playground!
Sweet sun is setting scarlet as red fruit on high,
In a sizzling beauteous exit-apple pie in the sky!
We are caught up in the middle, of our passionate love affair,
In a world still so young, sweet dreams can blossom anywhere!