It's so quiet here, I can almost hear the stars singing,
now and again a sweet, soft breeze touches my cheek.
This luscious garden, so alive and full of life in daylight,

He stands stiff and proud, hands on hips..
His hard face grizzled, burned brick-red
by the harsh glare of the sun on the waves..
At the very tip of the prow he scans the

My poetry, like my constant rambling mind,
seeks expression..
Flitting from one word to another,
always searching for that perfect one..
Like a butterfly uneasily settling on