Door closed,

Path blocked,

Inside in silence, ...

There are times,

I too feel chained,

Braced for the day, ...

Disguises,

Come in many forms.

Yet they cannot, ...

Every living thing,

Eventually dies,

But may be reborn, ...

Early Spring days,

Carry a freshness,

That magically rejuvenate, ...

Oftentimes,

Wandering mindlessly,

Creates a tranquility, ...

Teardrops,

Scratches,

Marks. ...

When it is time,

I’d like my ashes,

To be planted, ...

Some days,

What abundantly grows,

In nearby forests, ...

I used to wonder,

Why most things,

Do not long last. ...

It is hard to understand,

That still,

In these modern times, ...

Some things,

Are practical.

Others, ...

To look back,

On the road travelled,

Gratifies. ...

Some days,

Not everything,

Need be understood. ...

It’s curious,

That as I age,

The one thing, ...

Pride,

Grace,

Loneliness, ...

The natural world,

In winter sleeps,

Only to awaken, ...

When trees,

Bear chicken and eggs,

It’s time for traditions, ...

And no two stones,

Are the same,

Despite beliefs, ...

It is not surprising,

That modern life,

Is more confusing, ...