Hard climbs,

Appear daunting.

And how the mind, ...

To fit in,

Or to be me.

The answer is simple, ...

Beside a brick wall,

Or close to a sprinkler,

With no worries at all. ...

On some days,

Even trees,

Need a helping hand, ...

Despite the wear,

Scratches or dents,

Most things old, ...

Today’s views,

Never look the same,

When seen through eyes, ...

On calm sunny days,

He often sat there,

Drink in hand, ...

On cloudy days,

I often play,

An old childhood game. ...

Art is often created,

In neighborhood corners,

Neglected or concealed. ...

Traveling on highways,

Is often direct and fast.

But I prefer side roads, ...

Some trees bear fruit,

As winter arrives.

Perhaps I too, ...

Some days,

We simply cannot find,

The will to say no. ...

As days pass,

And leaves fall,

A once surrounded, ...

Leaning sideways,

Feeling flat,

In need of rest, ...

Another chapter ends,

With deep memories,

Keeping me warm, ...

Maybe tomorrow,

I’ll tie a bow around me,

Then wait and see, ...

Reality is often camouflaged,

Yet in the open,

To easily be seen. ...

Perhaps my feelings,

Like shadows,

Are extending in time. ...

Freshness is temporary.

At times imaginary.

For time fades, ...

As much as I love life,

A part of me is glad,

When the days pass. ...