And then those times
Where life like pleasant clouds
Softly moving through the sky
Without a chartered course
Yet never lost to gazers
from below
And then those times
Where life like wine
Poured into glasses
Red and ripe with zeal
Making us soft at head
Yet never foolish
In our choices
And then those times
Where dreamy Sunday afternoons
Ending with a setting sun
Perched atop a golden gleaming sea
Are simple yet magnificent
Without the need
for audience
And then those times
Where magic lost
Inside our hearts
Is filled with madness
Roaming like a ceiling fan
Only to find ourselves
Where everything began
And then those times
Where life has passed us by
Measured by our memories
Smiles and loves and cries
And then those times
Where life content with what
we have become
Heavy oak trees
Rooted in the ground
Still reaching up
Trying trying trying
To be free
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