5/26/2012.

Cyclical poem.

Our past were made up of sweet and bitter memories.

Compare rivers and oceans
With time and eternity;
One flows into the other,
Forever one to be.

While passing through the aisles of time,
One might hear the cries of death. …

Love sonnet – with lots going on.

I hear the same old sound
of people groaning;
Same old sounds of cruel
death and mourning—-

The emptyness of a full room.

Sounds of rustling leaves, lovingly hugging the trees, are Nature’s gentle whispers, whispering in the breeze.

Relief can be so pleasurable.