Tomorrow is a time to remember

Tomorrow is a time to remember, A time to think, reflect on the past. Tomorrow is a time to prepare, The mind and soul, for the die is cast.         A Thousand Moments in Time! To remember with love and no regret, To prepare for the moments not happened yet. To each of us the difference is vast, For our spirits, not our lives are meant to last. Show me the way through the golden light, To eternal space: a wondrous sight. Blow away the webs of misery and grief, And replace with tenderness… A spirit belief. Tomorrow is a time to remember, A time to reflect on the past. Tomorrow is a time to prepare When today is but a memory past.         Higher thoughts! — Jean S. Fordham

Music covers the extremes of life

Music covers the extremes of life, The calm, the gentle, the stress and strife. It floats all around like a soft white cloud, Or thumps your chest when it’s much too loud. You can lose yourself, your thoughts are free, It opens a window so your mind can see. Your world it is perfect almost surreal, Your imagination runs wild it is unreal. So just sit back, close your eyes and drift, On a floating wave that’s a gracious gift. Each note is pure, so crisp and clear, Let your body relax, your thoughts hold no fear. — Jean S. Fordham

The hen

Oh, why me? It’s just an awful life, It’s full of pain and full of woe and always full of strife. I am a lonely hen, no sun or rain for me, I spread my wings and pray that someday I’ll be free. My home’s so small, it is beyond belief, I hop from side to side to get some light relief. My neighbour – who lives next door, is just the same as me. She’s so noisy and so grumpy and she squawks constantly. No mother shall I be, no chicks to waddle by, No wonder as I get the URGE I want to sit and cry! The excitement I can’t contain, as I hop from side to side, I finally lay an egg, its about 2” wide! I can’t build a nest of hay and watch my chicks stroll by, No, I watch my egg as it roll’s away, can’t even say goodbye. Oh my feathers are so dirty and my tail’s a dam disgrace, All I want to know is “will I ever leave this place?” I long to roam, to peck and scratch, to be wild and free, But alas each day goes by and it is not meant to be. My pin’s are old, thin and frail, I feel so strange unsteady, But oh dear lord, as a last resort, I’ll be an OVEN READY! — Jean S. Fordham