A Wise Old Owl

A World Of Peace And Harmony.
Deep and far and wide man casts his net
But himself he has not mastered yet.
He walks in space and treads the starry skies
But lacks the wit and wisdom to devise.
A way of life to live successfully
In a world of peace and harmony.

Few Words.
His thoughts were slow
His words were few
But he was a joy to all his friends
You should have heard him listen.

A Wise Old Owl.
A wise old owl sat in an oak
The more he heard the less he spoke
The less he spoke the more he heard
Why aren’t we all like that wise old bird?

Open The Windows Of Your Mind.
Towards the brightest view
Facing the sun that sheds a light
On all things good and true.
Look at life with eyes that see
The good and not the bad
Cherish in your memory
The glad times, not the sad.

Dear Father In Heaven.
Watch over those who I love and care about.
When they are afraid give them courage.
When they struggle give them patience.
Bless them with your grace.
When dejected, give them hope.
When they suffer, when they walk in darkness,
Show them your light.

True Friends.
Friends may come and friends may go
Some melt away like winter’s snow.
But true friends share life in a way
That simple words cannot convey.
You know they’re always there for you
To give support and help you through,
And friendship which is strong and clear
Will never ever disappear.

Now That I’m Older.
I’ve begun to do and say
Exactly as I please.
Why should I waste a minute?
Why should I waste a day?
Doing the things I ought to
Simply because I should
Now that I’m older
I’m done with that for good.

The Little Minutes.
Little drops of water, little grains of sand,
Make the mighty ocean, and the pleasant land.
So the little minutes, humble though they be,
Make the mighty ages of eternity.

The Quarrel Is Cured.
A little explained.
A little endured.
A little forgiven.
And the quarrel is cured.

Time Is Fleeting.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
Old time is still a-flying
And the same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.