morning.

A refreshing night's

rest, a peaceful heart.

Hot coffee and a look

out the window.

Ah, how kind is this

new day.

I do not wish for

power or glory in

this world.

Just give me such

a morning as this

every day.

Everything King Midas

touched turned to

gold. But, oh, he

could never match

the golden sun

streaming through

my window.

POEM FOR THE NEW YEAR

The days are short,

the year about to

end--but life goes

on.

The golden light of

heaven, the winds, the

clouds, the sea and all

the earth and its crea-

tures continue--but

the year ends.

All the forms of men

are fixed and end--

yet the cycles of life

continue whether human

views prevail or not.

Without the laws of

men, the laws of na-

ture continue; the

end of the old year,

and the first day of

the new year means

nothing to the

frozen lake

or the leafless tree:

Spring will return

without the aid of

man.

There is among the

stars and planets and

the ten-thousand things

of the earth, a great

order, where the order

of men does not apply.

This, then, is the

blessing we live with:

That eventually the

impositions of civilization's

arrogant order upon nature

will pass away, pass away,

while nature continues--

oblivious that men ever

existed or not.

ity was a humbug, a threadbare coat better left in the trash heap. I was in a deep

You sound like a philosopher."

"But I'm not. I'm a woman in love with a fine man and I want him--not more of him."

Her reasoning was more than a match for mine. Anna gazed at me with her soft, loving eyes. The fire had burned low and the soft glow of the coals dimly lit up her face, making it like the light and dark side