Spring’s labour’s come as we till the soil
And with purpose shall we sow our seed
And wait upon the coming of May’s sweet rain
To bring alive a world of green
And soon the bloom colours shall arrive
Bringing brightness as nature thrives
Padre
I can’t be bothered
I don’t really care
It’s your problem
There’s no need to share
I am not cold-hearted
But I’m still dismissive
Of the complaints you cited
In that five-page missive
Go deal with it on your own
And leave me alone
Padre
Be it a white clear,
A rose pink,
Or a deep purple red
As dark as ink
The grape has produced
Drinks deemed fine
Whether dubbed vino or wine
But as a Protestant quite fundamental
It’ll be for Concord grape juice
That I’ll settle
Padre
The bow cutting through the waves
Sails tightly trimmed – voyage time to be saved
The common log cast – our speed to take
The knots unwinding in our wake
A new harbour and liberty morn shall bring
With cargo unloaded we shall spend like kings
Padre
A snowbound road too slick to pass
Diversions and detours along the way.
How is it that life seems to stop,
Because it is a snowy day?
How can a flake so delicate,
Hold great machines at bay –
When it so easily melts away?
The perfect sandwich is an art you know
Start with bread made with sourdough
Find juicy roast beef nice and lean,
Some sautéed onions cooked to glossy sheen.
Now fresh tomato – slice oh so thin.
Add a dab of mayo – and it’s a win!
Brickwork surrounding a quaint fireside
A copper kettle there steaming upon its hook
No matter how the chill wind may blow outside
The fire’s glow warms the inglenook
A warm cup of something soon to provide
In this refuge as we chat and cook
Padre
Come and with me abide
In a world of our own making – rest
A place where our every dream comes true
An intimate lovers’ nest
Come and with me abide
In each other’s embrace remain
Cares melt away
As we snuggle side by side
Padre
To go? To stay?
To return another day?
The leave her here?
Or grasp her forever tight?
To honour the promise
That I made the other night?
The possibilities are many
But the right things are so few,
Whatever now am I to do?
Padre
“There’s work to do,”
The boss does say –
But I have no interest
In doing it today.
To daydream and skylark
Is the thing for me,
My greatest desire
Is to be free.
But what’s freedom without pay?
I guess I will work anyway.
Padre
Padre's Ramblings 