Poem.

Oh, the rivers that will flow-
And the faces that will go.
All the way pass the door,
And out into the void.
The void is in another room.
We tiptoe past the field of gloom.
I see your eyes, they light with grace,
As they move about any place.
The rainbow in the sky has grown;
Falling faster than we have known.
The weeds grow in the building lot,
A glass of lemonade will hit the spot.
The wind roars through the shade.
I look at all the art I have made,
A collage of words, a still of voice,
This is what I did, it is my choice.
The art is in mountains,
It is in fountains.
It is in the air-
Or walking down the stairs.
The colors of the void are dark,
We can’t begin to light a spark,
Of the night that surrounds us all,
And leaves again in the fall.
Oh, the rivers that will flow.
And time will stand still.