Bands Of Gold
Book of 149 poems

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If our hearts can speak thru these olden bands, Of unbroken bonds that only love understands. Still, of bounding faith that’ll keep us together, And richly bless the paths of our lives forever?

They’ll speak of things that’ll keep us young, And remind us of love that grew this strong. They will whisper softly whenever we smile, And gently itch our fingers for a little while

They’ll take us back to romantic places, And rekindle fires that’ll warm our faces, In the stream and brook they’ll find us love, And will forever seek her in the skies above.

Our hearts will guide us thru storm and rain, And in troubles will bring us through again, They’ll intercede without asking of them, As sufficient enough for they’re loyal friends.

And when we recall the vows we’ve made, We’ll remember the fires that’ll never fade. More so the times when some changes appear, The voices of our hearts will be all too near.When we stroll in the park or laze at home, Love will not forsake us nor leave us alone. In our golden years as in our days of wonder, Grant that these bands we’ll always remember.

Shall I write sweet songs to sing; Of ebb and tide and sun-kissed eves,
Of love most delicate that brings, The colossal to his knees?

Shall I in awesome cowardly flight, Close my eyes against all ills,
Perhaps high-tail in the dead of night, While the poor grows poorer still?

Shall I crawl into a sheltering rock, Like an ostrich in the sand,
Or scrunch ‘neath a woman’s frock, Should I fail to understand?

Shall I laud the standard-bearer, Waving high the symbol of shame,
Instead of climbing the highest tower, That I may criticize his vain?

Shall I adorn the cloak of disguise, With apparel that covers the soul,
Or should I, to a conniver’s demise, Spark some changes in this world?

Shall I at the expense of conscience, For it resounds throughout the world.

When tears that forsake your eyelids, Shall drench your aching heart,
They’ll moisten gardens of your faith, To spur the harvest you’ll impart.

When only you can see a masterpiece, A fine painting in your mind,
Then the portrait is that of yourself, You’ve been painting all the time.

When an uphill road or slippery slope, Proves the marrow of your being,
Those enchanting hills in the distance, Are but figments of what they seem.

And when all the preparation’s done, That the spirit may chart the way, It’ll lead you thence far and beyond, To the warmth of your brighter days.