Four Pane Window
by Robbie Lee Blanchard

Looking through the bright clear wall,
I note the seasons, Spring through Fall.
A story of life I can feel, see, and hear,
A glorious life that lasts but a year.

Upper left, the buds arupt with a singing bird,
Melted snow flows down the river I heard.
Warmer now, there are kids at play.
Planting crops on this rejuvinating day.

Upper right, it's hot, and lush green now,
So many shades against a mostly white cow.
Campfires at the lake, barbecues and fishing rods.
Gardens with tomatoes, corn, and pea pods.

Lower left, it's cooler now, leaves orange and red,
Cornstalks, pumpkins, witches fly overhead.
Farmers harvest, hunting deer, during this time of thanks,
Raking leaves and turning soil, along the river banks.

Lower right, a bitter time, but skis and sleds prevail.
A fire warms the Christmas tree from wind, ice, and hail.
Flurries mixed with icicles and angels in the snow,
Another year has past us, just where did the days go?

So, start again this cycle, of which the seasons turn,
Watch it very carefully and maybe you will learn.
They're bookmarks, times to revelate, reflections if you will,
Without them, you can hardly see, and barely can fullfill.

 

 

 

Covered Bridges
by Robbie Lee Blanchard

Along the road of wonder I walk,
It's made of dirt, no need to talk.
Amongst the trees and rocky walls,
Deer and birds and waterfalls.
It winds as if to tease my sight,
Through the leaves I see, not quite.
Up and down, valleys and hills,
The beauty of it gives me chills.
A fenced in field between a mountain range,
One blade of grass, I would not change.
A squirrel stores nuts near an apple tree,
Where else would anyone want to be?
This whole place is like one small town,
People full of smiles, not a frown.
Across a bed of pine needles I look,
And see a red bridge across a brook.
It's covered, like a tunneled house,
On its latticed walls I see a mouse.
I lean on a birch tree and kick an acorn,
My path will cross, I shall be reborn.
Upon the bridge I feel a change.
Comfortable yes, yet slightly strange.
It seems as if I'm in a new place,
Not of physical, but mental space.
Could this be true, could I be right?
Across a wooden bridge of plight?
I feel so good, so happy and true,
Above the trees a black crow flew.
This is the place for which I've fought,
Of what I've preached, and what I've taught.
Blessed I am to find my way,
For all to find, I truely pray.