THE WISHING FISH
What if you could be a trout
And splash and flip
And flop about.
Amidst the river's ripples you
Would catch sun shimmers
And renew the summer wind.
You'd stop to chat
With trouty friends
And make amends.
Or discourse on the willow's bend.
The gala of the water's course,
Like laughter of a child,
Would run along your gullet
With the mystery of the wild.
And every wish you ever heard
Would be in chorus with the birds.
As palettes made of rainbows play,
You'd flap your fins
To greet the day.
Along the banks you'd rest at night
And fire flies like lamps would light
The glowing of the August Moon,
Where fish make wishes of their own
And all the best remains unknown.
Thomas Vorce
A GOOD DAY TO DIE
Ah!
To have lived and died
In the time of gratitude.
There were no cell phones then.
People seemed to enjoy
Meeting face to face.
In fact, they often embraced.
And they were not ashamed
Of their faith.
Gratitude was in
The air you breathed.
Sunsets painted all the houses
And not just those who
Had the view on the hill.
There was time for timelessness.
You could feel it in your solar plexus
And not the pit of your stomach.
It was referred to as 'charming'
By the operatic, and 'wholesome'
to those who were unsuspecting.
From sunrise to sunset
There was nothing to covet.
Naïve and innocent,
They went from the cradle
To the grave buoyed by
Their shared affections.
That's why I moved here.
By Thomas Vorce