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There’s a little freckle-face –

She’s cute as she can be.

I greatly admire her,

And hope she admires me.


She’s really soft and sweet.

Why hide it? Heck if I know!

She likes to seem real tough,

Like the thick skin of a rhino.


She hates to hear her voice –

She thinks it’s chirpy and high,

But I delight at every note.

When I hear it I could fly.


Her smile gives me pleasure,

And makes me warm inside.

I can’t get her off my mind,

No matter how hard I’ve tried.


My time that’s spent without her

Seems long and uneventful.

I love our time together,

But apart I feel resentful.


Wherever it is that she is

I want to be in that place.

I just can’t get enough of

My little freckle-face


To Dream of You

I tell myself to dream of you

Every night before I sleep.

Our time together is too short.

More memories I want – to keep.


But dreams don’t seem to obey me,

And I haven’t yet seen your face.

The dreams I’ve seen until now

Could never quite take your place.


I spend all of my waking hours

Just daydreaming solely of you –

Of our lengthy conversations –

Of the things we two could do…


One day my dream of dreaming

About you will finally come.

To my constant and nagging pleas

My dreams will finally succumb.


Ladybug, ladybug, where will you land?

I wish it would be in the palm of my hand.

I’d hold you, and pet you, and spend everyday

Admiring your spots, and you’d not fly away.


Ladybug, ladybug – cute, little thing,

Good luck and good fortune to me you would bring.

I’d reward you with gifts, and happy you’d be.

You’d never regret not flying from me.


Ladybug, ladybug, stay with me still.

This one sole request I request you’ll fulfill.

I’ll keep you forever here close to my heart,

I’d lose more than friendship if ever we’d part.

Spinner of Tales

Oh, ye spinner of tales!

Your life sounds so inviting!

What thrills your life avails!

It all sounds so exciting!


Why stop with just one tale,

When more tales can be told?

Why seem so safe and stale,

When your brain is oh so bold?


The first tale – barely plausible.

By two I highly doubted.

The third made it just impossible,

And your duplicity was outed.


I won’t correct your lying,

Your tales make you feel unique.

But inside I know you’re crying,

And your self-respect is weak.


Anxiety and stress –

I like to keep mine low.

I like to just relax,

And keep things nice and slow.


But others whom I know

Are much too over-stressed;

“There’s too much I must do,

It must be NOW and it must be BEST!”


Like Atlas forever holding

The world on shoulders high,

They bear too many burdens,

And their worries multiply.


Your life at work and home life –

The two should never meet.

Leave work back at the office,

Vice versa and it’s complete.


Take time for all the small things.

Don’t take on quite so much.

Enjoy your friends and family,

Picnics, movies, games, and such.


Eliminate all of the drama,

Or do the best you can,

‘Cause stress can be a killer

That even fault lines understand.


Will my friends all be forgotten?

Could they forget me too?

Will they remember just the bad times,

Or all that we’ve been through?


Will the total of their memories

Be weighted by my mistakes?

Or will they think of me fondly,

No matter what it takes?


Will my presence at their birthdays,

Babies’ births, and weddings too,

Be something they remember,

Or something they once knew?


Will they ever think “What happened’

‘To that guy we used to see?”

“Did he drop clear off the planet?”

“Does he ever think of me?”


I can’t help but think these questions.

I’m not the greatest friend,

But I hope to be forgiven;

Remembered fondly at the end.

The Lake

I was probably about seven years old one summer when I went with my friend Jimmy to his parents’ lake house on a Sunday afternoon. The lake house was a small, two bedroom cabin with wood paneling throughout. About 30 feet from the back door was situated a small, brown dock, constructed of milk chocolate-colored posts and planks. It was just a small, ordinary, brown, little dock.


The lake was not very big, not even to me as a child. It seemed to be about the size of two football fields, lengthwise and widthwise, and there were about a dozen cabins similar to theirs dotted around the rim of the lake.


The water was not the pristine, crystal-clear water you would expect in the Appalachian foothills. The color was more of a pea soup green mixed with a light brown mud.


Jimmy and I were standing on the dock, trying to force the slimy, wiggly little earthworms onto our hooks. We would cast our rods and the worms would catch a whiff of freedom and fly off of the hooks in another direction. The few worms that stayed on the hooks were snatched and quickly transported away by lightning-fast fish.


Needless to say, we quickly ran out of worms. Jimmy thought we might have better luck using lures, so he ran to the house for his tackle box. As he was heading towards the house, I saw one of our bait worms floating towards the dock. I couldn’t tell if it was dead or alive, but it didn’t matter. I wanted that worm!


I leaned forward, reaching for the worm with my fishing pole, and promptly fell in headfirst!


It happened so suddenly, I had no time to take a breath. One moment I was breathing crisp, clean, summertime, mountain air and the next I was sucking in salty, mud pie soup! The putrid, seemingly waste-filled slush was more than a match for the cow pasture across the street from Jimmy’s house in the horrible smell department.


I was a decent swimmer. I had been swimming since I was three or four years old, but the shock of falling into this ice cold, muck-filled water headfirst caused me to forget my skill. All I could see was the murky fog of the creamed spinach-green water with occasional glimpses of brown bark, leaves, or twigs floating by.


Without my vision as a guide, I thrashed about wildly, lurching forward, as my feet furiously propelled like an angry helicopter. I cannot remember calling for help. With my mouth and throat stinging as if I had swallowed a shot of Tabasco with an onion and salt chaser, it is not likely that I was able to. Plus, only the fish, or possibly Aquaman would have heard me underwater.


Constantly reaching forward, I finally managed to touch one of the posts of the dock. Its algae-covered surface was oil-slick mixed with the water and its needle-sharp splinters stabbed at my cold, pruning fingers. I could not grab onto to the post.


Suddenly, I heard a rumbling above my head. Horses seemed to be galloping along the dock, but it was a neighbor who had seen me fall in. He ran right over and plucked me from death’s icy, dripping grip.


I was a quivering wet cat when he pulled me out, half cold and half mad that I was forced into the water. My trembling cold soon gave way to a steamy, red heat of embarrassment.


We thanked the man for saving my life and all was soon right. To this day I cannot remember the man’s name, or if I ever knew it in the first place. All I can remember of him was his bushy, brown caterpillar of a mustache. I wish I could have thanked him in a more proper fashion.