A Toddler's ways

 

The Earth hath not borne anything as pure

As those beautiful feet that hath just embarked,

On the first of life’s many picturesque tours

Seasoned with tales of frolic and larks.

 

Trotting away from them, only to look back in jest,

Enough for each to declare claims of your attention,

Every compassionate heart here pours out its best,

When their labors of love earned their worthy pension.

 

What a pity it be to see you trip over to the rug,

What a relief to see you stand back in smiles,

What an honor it is when you choose my hugs,

What a joy to follow you for hours and miles.

 

No grammar as beautiful as his half-baked Babble

No dance as mesmerizing his unbalanced gait,

No story stands to captivate like his childhood’s Fable,

That the Creator hath authored through his parents’ slate.

An evening with a toddler has fueled the author to write these verses. Yet he knows for sure that the beauty of childhood will never be measured well enough by his limited power with words. 

Verse Crumbs: Holy Hill

The Holy Mother, know, dwells in this Manger of Piety,

In the woods whose peace, my words labors to explain,

Did the Savior that hath Risen, give this Fall her beauty?

Here my touring eyes retire and in contemplation, I remain.

A visit to Holy Hill that houses the Basilica of National Shire of Mary, to catch the Fall colors, and got overpowered not just by the beauty of Fall but by this underlying peace that was difficult to explain. 

Verse Crumbs: Dinner with comrades

Never a dull moment when comrades dine, 
Never a SafeHouse where puzzles untwine, 
Never a palate ignored by that Lady Terse,
Never enough reasons to send you this verse. 


After dinner with group of great friends and colleagues, at a restaurant called SafeHouse. 

Verse Crumbs - Birthday it is!

A birthday wind was blowing in town,
the night was young in her winter gown,
the scoops got picked and crumbs stranded
from dinner we took off and in Kopps landed.

(Dinner party celebrating one of their birthdays and then icecreams)

By The Flickering Flame of a Beauteous Night

When the fire of revelry let out her first smoke,

When I set forth in earnest without my cloak;

When guarded etiquette flashed her final smile,

When dancing shoes would paint many a tile;

When chiming glasses had intoxication in guise,

When the dancing tribe possesseth my eyes;

Whose hands I clapped, to whose humor I bent,

Through many a name my labored memory spent;

Yet what magic did it weave that I sit up and pen,

With an unexplained urge came these verses in ten.

The author finds an unexplained urge to pen these verses in a set of ten at the end of a musical night of camaraderie.