I sat on the beach and counted grains of sand,
but then the wind took them
and they flew from my hand,
perhaps I should refrain,
from acting in disdain,
some things should not be counted
just enjoyed from day to day.
The little things that worry crawl and bite like ants,
but then a shoe stomped them
and they fell from my pants,
perhaps I should rely,
on Jesus not the lie,
because He is the only one
to help me when I cry.
By L. M. Montes
Mist arises from a grave unknown here,
tickling my mind so curiously,
then winds of thought spread far yet hovers near,
covering beauteous scents tapping me.
The sun lifts high and pulls the mist away,
and now grass sparkles on the brink of day,
flowers spotted diamonds of morn’s soft dew
are natures way of mixing its perfume.
A tiny cold nips at the finger tips,
while the sun prickles with warming tickles,
and the ocean of skies set forth the dyes
of bluish color hues as if on cue.
But alas a cloud of gray comes rushing
with storm winds pelting and rains a gushing.
H
Salt water air the seagulls breath,
Sand glides toward the waters sheath,
White feathered wings tickle evening skies,
With rolling waves as they sail by.
by L. M. Montes
Across the bay I gaze,
Mountains with hats of snow do laze,
Boats a-sailing waiver and weave
Upon the sapphire waves then leave.
by L. M. Montes
The above photos are from trees out my back yard and to the side of my house. The colors were to beautiful to resist.
WRITE TIME AND AGAIN 