The Essayist

She often wrote well into night

Pen to paper by lowered light

When color faded from the day

Words would dance like a cabaret of birds in flight

Most of the stories with her name

Would never bring her much acclaim

This knowledge never stopped her pen

Writing prose again and again, without the fame

A deep love of the written word

Allowed the quiet girl be heard

She bared her soul upon the page

The lady’s passion grew with age, quite undeterred

Little Boy and His Calf

 There once was a boy with a calf

Who built a house then cut it in half

It really worked well

But would have been hell

Had his pet been a spotted giraffe!

The Typewriter

 Your time has passed my loyal friend

You always put my mind to ease

When sleep would flirt yet not descend

My dreams found freedom in your keys

The outlet for my rambling mind

A voice when I could not speak

Muddled words were soon refined

On your keys now deemed antique

Of your passing, there’s no rejoice

I yearn for sounds of tapping keys

Which meant a writer found her voice

Capturing words from elusive breeze 

Sweet Little Girl

Without a care you jump and twirl
Sweet little girl
A smiling face
With awkward grace

Band music fell upon your ears
You had no fears
Just moved your feet
On city street

You brought me back to my childhood
While there I stood
Wanting to play
For one more day

Blue Heron

Fearless bird of flight

Standing sentry on the shore

Watches the current

Keen eyes seeking prey

Water ripples, wings expand

Graceful Blue Heron

Lady Slipper

Lone Lady Slipper

Fragile cascading petals

Of white velvet