backyard

september and the butterflies still flit

from bloom to bloom trees manage still to sway

in gentle time in nature's smoothest play

while i am still alive to smile at it

my heart and mind have found the truest grit

is not in words nor in what good folk say

but in the patterns of the everyday

in ready laughter and in honest wit

there are no angels waiting for my soul

nor gods in the beyond with secrets grand

ready to weigh my spirit for its worth

i take this journey for a single whole

the good i do must come from a kind hand

and honest tears are good with honest mirth