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" IDEALS "
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SCROLLDOWN FOR:
''TOP O' THE HEAP''
''A SUMMER SONG''
''A WINTER SONG''
''LET'S DO OUR DREAMS''
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"TOP O' THE HEAP"
I know a salvage man,
the best in all the land,
who rises every morn' at "crack 'o day."
He hustles like a dart to get an early start...
to fetch the "goodies" folks have thrown away.
He's the best darn bargain hunter that ever hit the road,
and has a busy nose just like a hound;
he can smell things made of brass, or copper just as fast,
or any other "pickins" found around.
He's a salvage man renown and a symbol of the street,
who's out there on the look come rain or sun;
he has two eagle eyes that can seek out his supplies
before the city dumpster makes it's run!
He's the best of all the like that e're "came down the pike"
with a will that humbles other salvage men;
for always, as of course, there is that driving force...
to search a trash pile... end to end!
He's a master at this art, for he knows just what to cart,
and his friends all call him "king of rust."
He can take a 'lectric fan and make it run again,
and like it never saw a grain of dust....
or find a rusty table lamp that saw a better day,
or some old chair that's rocked it's last goodbye;
like an artist through and through,
he makes 'em all look new before anyone can bat an eye!
Now he's the salvage man supreme who fills a daily dream,
retired, with nothing else to do;
for he has it in his blood like a flower has it's bud,
a true trash picker, through and through.
He's a craftsman as a trashman, who does a lot of good...
to save those items from their destined end;
from some lasting earthly grave to worth and beauty saved;
back into some home to shine again!
He's a salvage man of worth as the richest man on earth,
and not because he made a lot of cash;
but excitement that exists that brings him solid bliss,
with treasures being... other people's trash!
William E. Hardison (c)
A Summer Song
It's a song I sing in summer,
for the heat is so severe;
a same old line at winter time,
in wishing summer here.
It's the same old tune of many,
I suppose I'm worst of all;
for through the cold it's heat I seek,
when hot, can't wait for fall!
I guess I'm self divided,
and can't make up my mind;
but God provides and takes all sides,
a choice for all mankind.
It's just too hot to garden,
high temperatures prevail,
like a warden fenced and cordon,
I'm free, but still in jail!
And the weeds have taken over,
'cause it's too darn hot to "weed",
and the lawn is so, no need to mow,
for the drought has killed the seed.
So I'm forced back in confinement,
back where the room is cold,
back to my chair to sit and stare,
at my TV of old.
And sit in total pleasure,
and dream of snow and ice,
and just pretend and wallow in
the nicety of life.
And dream of snow flakes falling,
the children on their sleighs,
the snow ball fights, the Christmas lights,
brings back my childhood days.
But if I sit here long enough,
fall will come anon,
then 'mid the trees and falling leaves,
I'll relish all I'm fond.
But low, behold, comes winter cold,
and I'm right back to be tied;
in my living room, the same old tune:
It's too darn cold outside!
©William E. Hardison
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"A WINTER SONG"
I know it's in God's scheme of things
so please don't take me wrong,
for everyday that comes my way
I cherish all day long.
Even in the wintertime
deep down I feel rejoice;
and dearest God has given nod
so I can make a choice.
For me to choose 'twix hot or cold,
it won't take long for that;
for winter squalls; and indoor walls,
confine me where I'm at!:
Within my lonely cabin here,
I'm "blue" with anxious wait;
and like a bear cooped in a lair,
I'm bound to hibernate.
I dread the long, hard winter months;
unrest has taken toll.
I sit and pine for summer time
to thaw my frozen soul!
The snow outside has risen high
and banked up to the sill;
I'm hunkered in a prison den,
with only time to fill.
I gaze upon the dark gray skies,
and think of summers old;
then the Ground Hog came, his shadow claims
six more weeks of cold!
Well, I've weathered storms
of wind-blown cold;
and sure as sun will shine;
as sure as night, and stars are bright,
will come the warm springtime!
To embrace all of nature's call,
the fragrance of the grass;
the joys that come when spring has sprung,
with cold days gone at last!
So Spring has come and life has sprung,
and beauty fills the skies...
with bumble bees, and budding leaves,
and pretty butterflies.
And purple martins on the soar,
The humming birds in flight;
The mocking bird, whose song is heard,
makes everything seem right!
Just breathe aroma from the vines
from nature's sweet perfumes;
makes my heart sing: "How Great The King,"
Creater of all blooms.
So, now to get my walking shoes,
my thoughts are all out door;
I cannot wait to celebrate
the springtime I adore.
And bask along in huge content
while treading nature's trail,
an inner voice with much rejoice,
is saying: "ALL IS WELL! "
William E. Hardison (c)
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LET'S DO OUR DREAMS
Lets go ahead and chase our dreams, we never get too old.
Just follow our star by all the means, should always be our goal.
With many more things left to do, and doing them in style,
like taking a trip to Kalamazoo would make it all worth while.
We could paint a scene of paradise, or what we perceive it to be,
or write a book on sacrifice, or one of poetry.
We could climb a rocky mountain, and realize a dream,
and gather our blessings for counting to bolster our self esteem.
We could take a trip around the world and go from site to site.
Let all our hopes and joys unfurl, just living without strife.
To go explore the ocean's floor and search for treasures there,
would thrill me to the utmost core in finding something rare.
Another thing we all may try... is parachute from a plane,
just to think that I skydived would be a thrill to gain.
Now , I realize that most of this is just a state of mind,
but that is why we all must wish and always search to find.
And if we try with all our might and dreams still won't come true,
Well, we did our best, and did what's right,
but yet, there's still much left to do;
so go ahead and dream away, it doesn't hurt anyone,
will help us make it through the day, should any sorrow come.
We can still work in the garden where things of beauty grows;
ask the Lord his pardon, and the mercy He bestows.
Then at the close of everyday, before we turn it in,
Let's ask God to show the way, so tomorrow... we can start again!
© William E. Hardison
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