Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Goodbye to you
My trusted friend
We've known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we've climbed hills and trees
Learned of love and A-B-C's
Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.

Goodbye
My friend
It's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky;
Now that the spring is in the air
Pretty girls are ev'rywhere
Think of me and I'll be there.

We had joy
We had fun
We had seasons in the sun;
But the hills that we climbed
Were just seasons out of time.

Goodbye
Papa
Please pray for me
I was the black sheep of the family;
You tried to teach me right from wrong
Too much wine and too much song
Wonder how I got along.

Goodbye Papa
It's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky;
Now that the spring is in the air
Little children ev'rywhere
When you'll see them
I'll be there.

We had joy
We had fun
We had seasons in the sun;
But the wine and the song
Like the seasons have all gone.

Goodbye
Michelle
My little one
You gave me love and helped me find the sun;
And ev'ry time that I was down
You would always come around
And get my feet back on the ground.

Goodbye Michelle
It's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky;
Now that the spring is in the air
With the flowers ev'rywhere;
I wish that we could both be there.

We had lives
We had fun
We had seasons in the sun;
But the stars we could reach
Were just star-fish on the beach.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning
they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

It's Summer

Already the July 4th celebration is over.
But the weather is much too nice to stay in the house.
Gardens are on their own.