I wouldn’t want a name like that
So I called it Ann Marie
Kate said it would be a friend
A plant? Now how could that be?

Just something else to take care of
The thought brought me no glee
I placed it in sunlight
On the table with the potpourri

As time marched on I did my best
To tend to it responsibly
Fed and sprayed and watered it
Babied it tenderly

On my birthday, a special gift
From, by now a friend, Ann Marie
A red and yellow flower
Blossomed just for me

Now a dash of zero, now half a stick of naught,
then fresh homemade nix, not the store bought.
Sally’s just loaded with secret little tricks,
to add a bit of flavor to her special no cal mix.

“Don’t forget nothing”, chimed her ragdoll cat.
Sally just ignored him, knowing cats can’t chat.
Her mental state has never been so grim
as to think a cat can talk, even on a whim.

“Don’t forget nothing”, the cat mewed a second time.
This time it floored her, stopped her on a dime.
Though it was far beyond comprehension,
she was now proud of cat’s unique dimension.

But appalled at his grammar, she bent down to descend
“You mean ‘Don’t forget anything’, right feline friend?”
“No, don’t forget nothing” the cat quipped from his mat.
Nothing was added to the stew and that’s the end of that.

At first the voice had spewed out what
he was experiencing at the moment.
“The world’s population topped six and
a half billion in 2006″ it boomed, but
followed by words that, unable to hug
his radio, prompted a few healthy pats.

“Kind of makes you want to move to
Pitcairn Island in the south Pacific.
Forty-five happy souls, the planet’s
least populated jurisdiction.”

Bingo! With his wife and two kids,
the planet’s least populated jurisdiction
soon increased almost 10 percent.
The census won’t count the dog.

It landed softly,
squarely between us,
not wanting to take sides
in our latest fuss.

Lets listen to nature,
so smart from day one.
The leaf has told us
that neither has won.

I’m happy with that,
I respect your view.
It differs from mine,
no reason to stew.

I can learn from you,
you from me,
and strengthen our bond
when we disagree.

Ever known you know but really misunderstand?
Our species to err is part of God’s plan.
Of today’s world there’s so much to be proud,
mankind has been right more often than wrong.
Yet lives full of sunshine get peppered with dark clouds
when we know the all the words but blow the song.

Disciplined by the human condition all our life long,
we’re subject to misfortune when we play our hand,
simply applying our knowledge when we think it’s strong.
But on top of our hot soup may float a grain of sand,
our species to err is part of God’s plan.
Decisions and choices we all make each day,
some are important, some as simple as what’s for lunch,
some with trepidation, others without fear in the way.

There are times when it’s critical to be first to the punch,
armed with cognition, or perhaps just on a hunch.
Making decisions is not optional in our life’s span,
and those that really challenge number a bunch.
Wrong choices has plagued humans since time began,
our species to err is part of God’s plan.

But suddenly she saw something and quickly applied the brakes
to pick up a small round object near the sewer grates.
It was gray and metallic and sprinkled with grimy dirt,
so of course Sally wiped it clean on her favorite shirt.

It looked like a coin of some type, at least so she thought,
but her efforts to identify it all came to naught.
On one side was a big image of an Indian’s head,
on the other “a bull!” she naively said.

Sally casually slipped it in her pocket and resumed her skip,
’twas the “A” on the test, not the coin, driving  her fast clip.
“Mom, I got an A!” she yelled, flying through the door.
She got the expected praise, and a couple of dollars more.

June, the mom, knew two dollars wasn’t really much of a treat,
but though she worked hard, ’twas also hard to make ends meet.
She had split with her husband a year ago, had no idea where he is,
and, as you know, raising a child on one income is no one’s easy biz.

That night, after Sally was tucked in bed, sweet dreams in her head,
June had no time to think of rest, and did household chores instead.
While the dishes were running noisily, she gathered up dirty clothes.
Sally’s jeans she wore that day was included in the items she chose.

It’s a good thing June checks pockets before each wash is run,
finding pens, paper, gum, and who knows what, before she’s done.
But this night, while worrying about finances and nearly in a trance,
the coin she found was dropped in their piggy bank, with nary a glance.

But June and Sally shop each Saturday at the local grocery store,
where June’s best friend is a cashier, they have such great rapport.
June grabbed some random spare change from the piggy bank to take,
because it almost always means just one less bill to break.

With her shopping done, June chatted with her cashier friend,
reaching in her purse to pay the bill, which came to fifty-two ten.
She found she had it exactly, right down to the two nickels,
the cashier spotted the Indian Head quickly, laughing as if tickled.

“June!” she exclaimed, “this is a Buffalo nickel, and an old one at that,
 it’s in excellent condition and could make your bank account fat”.
June blushed with embarrassment, reached in her purse for another,
and exchanged the two nickels with her friend, one for the other.

Well as you might imagine, June wasted no time in checking this out,
and promptly contacted Heritage Gallery Auctions to erase any doubt.
The 1916 5C Buffalo nickel was a very rare find indeed,
it brought $15,000 at auction, and did so with rare speed.

June didn’t forget for a second who made the incredible find,
she bought Sally a bicycle and new school clothes, the trendiest kind.
Put $3000 in Sally’s college fund, and with the amount that remained,
June had developed a surefire plan to assure that happiness reigned.

She splurged a bit on herself, bought some things she’d been lacking,
and paid off her debts, quickly sent all of them packing.
Jane’s friend at the store was happy, with eight hundred dollars gained,
some of the money went in the bank, and some of it entertained.

He gazed sadly at the dark gray Holly Oak,
where he spent fond Summers of days long past,
in the tree house his dad had helped him build,
playing “make-believe” as if it would forever last.

This backyard tree is large, some forty feet tall,
with the canopy width not very far from the same.
But it’s terribly ancient now, untold years old,
and disease and oak moths have laid their claim.

John, in his fifties now, grew up with this Oak,
and refers to it unabashedly as almost a friend.
Even as an adult he greatly admired it’s smooth bark,
and each Summer, on yellow flowers and acorns depend.

But on this day John knew he had no choice,
and picked up the phone to call a tree service.
He could easily tell his tree was surely ailing,
doubts it can survive making him somewhat nervous.

As it turned out, John’s premonition was right,
the Oak was just too infected to try and spare.
The tree company removed it, grinding the stump,
and in it’s place planted an Idaho Locust there.

John was a bit disappointed about his Oak “friend”,
but didn’t let it bother him for more than a day.
After all, it’s not the same as losing a person or pet
so he bid the Oak goodbye without further dismay.

John was happy to have the Idaho Locust now planted too,
a tree that produces loads of pink flowers each Spring.
Of course it’ll take some time to reach full maturity,
but one day clusters of magenta happiness it will bring.

“Humor me” he muttered, “I’ll let you choose”,
the agent sniffing the air for the scent of booze,
and finding none, told the man that was impossible,
“We fly the world over, your request is impractical”.

The man realized he was put on the spot,
he just wanted a ticket and wondered why not.
“Sir”, said the agent, “there’s a line behind you,
if you don’t tell me now, I bid you adieu”.

Knowing he must act, the man suggested the North Pole,
it would fit his mood, barren, lonesome, and cold.
“Sir, you’ve picked a place that we just don’t travel,
think of another quick before I slam down the gavel”.

“OK, you win” was the man’s forlorn reply,
saying he wanted a ticket to France but not knowing why.
He’s getting much warmer thought the agent named Mike,
“Any idea at all which town you might like?”

The man scratched his head, and said Paris would be fine,
trying to think of another would further distress his mind.
Mike hurriedly punched out the ticket, filled with glee,
having never been happier to see a customer flee.

But there was more to the story of which Mike wasn’t aware,
the man just wanted to get away, reflect, didn’t matter where.
He still loved his wife, though they hadn’t been getting along,
in fact, that very morning, their argument was strong.

Arriving in Paris, the city of love and bright lights,
he sat in his hotel room disregarding the sights.
The Arc de Triomphe, Louvre, not even the Eiffel Tower,
could steal away his attention at this darkest hour.

He spent three days in his room, using room service to eat,
dwelled on his wife and the myriad of ways she was sweet.
His mind and his heart kept playing the same song,
that he was at fault, the one that was wrong.

Finally summing up nerve, he picked up the phone,
called his wife and apologized for casting the first stone.
They talked for several hours, the cost of no matter,
reaffirming their love through non-stop chatter.

The next morning found him back again at an airport,
but when his turn, buying a ticket was seconds short.
He didn’t need to think twice where he wanted to fly,
into the arms of his true love never questioning why.