As Long As We Keep

Sometimes I Get Lonesome For A Storm. A Fullblown Storm Where Everything Changes.

To Sing Is To Praise God And The Daffodils, And To Praise God Is To Thank Him, In Every Note Within My Small Range, And Every Color In The Tones Of My Voice, With Every Look Into The Eyes Of My Audience, To Thank Him. Thank You, God, For Letting Me Be Born, For Giving Me Eyes To See The Daffodils Lean In The Wind, All My Brothers, All My Sisters, For Giving Me Ears To Hear Crying, Legs To Come Running, Hands To Smooth Damp Hair, A Voice To Laugh With And To Sing With...to Sing To You And The Daffodils.

It Seems To Me That Those Songs That Have Been Any Good, I Have Nothing Much To Do With The Writing Of Them. The Words Have Just Crawled Down My Sleeve And Come Out On The Page.

Noise Is An Imposition On Sanity, And We Live In Very Noisy Times.

You May Not Know It, But At The Far End Of Despair, There Is A White Clearing Where One Is Almost Happy.