Tate Morgan > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

She is this new babe crying little flower abloom on the hill Oh be for we both worth trying oh be for my life this thrill

I awoke de-ar, one night from dream-ing found twenty ye-ars, had slipped me b-y All that ti-me, I'd been for-saken with each gray ha-ir, there came..

True love seeks not itself to please for it fears no loss of station Creating ease, with every breeze Heaven grows to Hell's frustration

'Cross waves of wheat, her face I'd greet that white skin of milk and dew A voice so sweet, echo's the street green eyes cased in honey hue

They don't know anymore than you how to ease your life's pain Nor do they know why the winds blow or how to make the skies rain

Now most would say that I was wrong advising him this way Politically incorrect to ask he stand and pay

Behind those eyes then rose a tear the first blood I had ever drew From the depths of his tiny soul where innocence bid me adieu

With them go my joys and sorrows this life spent chasing dreams The grandiose philosophy built of my lofty hopes and schemes

I sent him the book to peruse in the hopes that it would cheer him To ease the blues and heal his bruise though the diagnosis was grim

To have a warm and a faithful friend who cheers in an adverse hour Is the gift you never wish offend to inherit life's great dower