On to share the mist filled
musty air
and falls touch of harvest songs
dry chaff floating by
and there
along where the heart does hold
near the hill of golden dusk
with footsteps far beyond
an ancient sallow song
beneath the harvests heavy load
along the dusty country road
�Old Stories, in the Broad Meadow�
Often you hear the soft lament
light wind through the quiet air
light brown meadow, lying
among the old tales there
old stories, lost ages among the time
other days
and through the brush young deer do tear
all among the old tales there
like airy sprites sallow but fair
and going among the old tales there
�Blue Mists of Passing Time�
Bright and bold
striding out from the centuries
the hidden road
leading out from despair
the road
of the winding
tree canopy way, as it was before
had always been and more
touches the heart, is felt
and opens the final door
at the distant horizon line
passing forth from the ages
lost in mists of passing time
�The Indians Come Along, in Time�
Along the dark brown
river path
the dark forbidding
hidden past
to visions in time
that men do say
come upon them there
on given days
distant figures in the mists of time
there at the dark bank river line
where many do consider it a sign
You�ll see the Indians come along, in time
�Morning Spirits�
Lost walk now
to the morning spirits
who come gliding, curling and low
light there
and soft they flow
they laugh now innocent
now free of sin,
they say hello, and say farewell
not saying where they�ve been