I sat there, in the park today where you and I, used to play.
We made mountains then, in the sand and odango balls, with our hands. A tree did shade us, from the sun, I`d chase you, and you`d run.
Your hair would blow, lightly in the air your eyes were bright, your smile, fair.
Around our feet, would gather doves as the gentle light, from up above would set your hair ablaze, aglow and rest upon you—an angel`s halo.
We were happy then, you and me— just to be, in each others company.
Now years have past, memories made, some like sun, some like shade. And as for, the way we`ve come indeed its been, a difficult one.
But as for those mountains, we did create now we climb them, for Heaven`s sake. And as for those odango balls, made with our hands, they slipped back into, grains of sand.
A.B.Adams March 22, 2020 Sunday 12:23pm
“Wind Beneath Your Wings”
Two trees stood by a wooded glade, one protected from sun by shade.
And of the vines that tried to choke, the taller tree bore their yoke.
When insects came to cause them harm the taller tree would wrap its arms— really branches as they were— around the little conifer.
And when the winds would start to blow, the little fir would lean just so, against the trunk of the taller tree (upon which One bore our iniquities).
And when the rains came pouring down their roots would soak deep in the ground.
But, unbeknownst to the naked eye for all the years of sacrifice, the taller tree that shielded her and yielded to the smaller conifer, deep inside in the inner part was bleeding profusely from the heart.
A.B.Adams January 6, 2020 Monday (Retyped-November 23, 2022, Wednesday)
