The Roils

The passion of youth

The requiem of the aged

All rifling in roils

Save the pen of poets

And the canvas of pastels

This wind, distant hills
blanketed with fog, snow,
    blooms, and breeze

The sea still calling my name

"come along and see"

Here We Go

Here we go a-wandering
Making

-Breaking

- - Taking

- - - Staking

All the while seeking and not finding

So many dreams we find when

We reach them were not the things

We'd dream they would be

For what we really seek and

Care not to know it

Has been right with us, before us

All along