Often times I was made glad
And oft my heart was sore.
For folk who traveled on the road
That winded by my door.
Adventure came, aye many a time,
And even now I sigh.
And sorry am to count the times
The false gods caught my eye.
But now I keep a little spot
Just off the busy road,
And there I patient, wise-eyed wait
Those of the heavy load.
And kindly then I draw them in
While warm heart talks to heart.
And when night darkens I have found
We’re sorry for to part.
This happened too once on a time
When I was weak and sore.
I drew a jewel from the road
That winded by my door.
But then I very often find
Two roads so different meet,
And many a friend I’ve found and kept
For whom I did not seek.
This Year
THIS year’s breezes gently toss
A fern uncurling from the moss;
Arbutus trailing lengths along;
Brown thrush thrilling with his song.
The grosbeak sings a song of cheer,
“Ain’t” things beautiful this year?
The dandelions are here again
Amongst the grass like golden rain.
A hawthorn raining petals white,
Whilst dripping with the dews of night.
A mocker’s notes, round, sweet and clear.
“Ain’t” things beautiful this year?
So thankful that old winter’s gone
Fond hearts beat a tender song.
The meadow lark in circles high,
Sings songs of faith against the sky.
While in my heart I greatly fear,
Things are too beautiful this year.