"Some men see things as they are, and ask why,
I see things that never were,
and ask why not."
Robert Kennedy
Carry me if you can
to that place called surrender,
where gentle breezes and soft sunsets
sooth this aching soul,
take me to this place where no child
cries, or never goes hungry,
the only sound from their mouths
are ones of joy and wonderment,
as the dark stallions come in for water,
and the cool Montana wind
give both animal and child goose bumps
a plenty,
laughter is spread across each soul
like freshly minted jam,
plenty to go round,
an extra helping for those who have just arrived,
ample make this place,
where all wounds are healed,
and Muslim lay down with baptist,
there is no hatred, only curiosity,
didn't kill anything,
for the night owls and crickets serenade us
till morning come,
fair, and graceful, with more
adjectives a plenty,
carry me if you can to a place where hospitals
are empty, graveyards off limits to life,
nursing homes non-existent,
and death as natural as birth,
just a staging area for another landscape
called heaven, and home,
where we all are welcome,
and hatred as no place,
like fruit cake
in this place that is called by
definition impossible,
but all of us beg
to go there, please.
Copyright,
William "Wild Bill" Taylor
March, 2002
