Shall i thank thee for being good to me? When times were tough and most men were quite rough In stuffing ideas of who i should be Down my throat so that i will want to cough. When times were tough – like a desert in drought The oasis of my dreams started to dry Up faster then a speeding car on route To clinic for there’s an emergency. – You were good to me like the men that bring Items of aid to the victims of war, So i know in this poem, that’s the one thing I will have to thank thee deeply for, for You were to me a good Samaritan That warmed my life, better than summer can.
We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.
They say, there are only forty fish in the sea. Swimming from coast to coast, away from the big boat- Belongs to the fisherman keeps it free of flea. So that on the oceans calm waters it will float- When at night he goes out with all his gear to cast, His net in order to catch the fish no swim fast.
Oh you! fool fish that has ended up on my plate. Where were you when all the other fish went to school? And were being taught how not to get duped by fate, When she tries to bait you into biting that tool- Used by the wise fishermen of old to hook fish, From the depths of the sea straight into our dish.
Oh you! Fool fish in my dish that I ate with thrill- For you tasted like a sample from the Gods meal, Even though you were only prepared on the grill. I hope in my stomach you swim around with zeal. For although it is not as big as the blue sea, You shall at least from the wise fishermen be free.
Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.
For forty years i felt the beating of my heart. The rhythm of which i compared to a broken drum. Till in my life you came and made it start to dart. Like strings from a harp when the bard makes them thrum.
The music it makes, makes me want to sing. Along to the song that you inspired with your love. A song fit for the ears of many a queen 'nd king. As well as the halls of GOD's in the sky above.
For forty years i felt the beating of my heart. And i knew not whether it would be made to dance. A merry jig the masses would consider Art. Or one that would make many want to shift their glance.
For forty years i felt the beating of my heart. Which before you came, was clearly being torn apart.
Shall i, compare thee to a dream of Spring? For when i entered a state of slumber My melancholy mood, began blooming Into a mood, that brought fourth its flower. Thou art more sweeter than a buzzing bee. A conquerer; more regal than a queen. Pollinating my sadness into glee. Turning the dry desert , of my heart green. Of you, the very air must be jealous. Scent from heaven; thou aroma will lure Many men to come your way and make fuss. In illness, hoping you will be their cure. But alas; i awoke from my slumber Feeling cold from the bold bitter winter.