~ Windows ~

Looking through my window as a child:

I beheld the sun rise when the morning

had arrived--

And it seemed to be my first

day of being aware, when I was very small,

and the world was bigger than something

way-far-away;

the mountains so far--

and my loved ones so near.

And I watched the birds and animals all

come alive when they thought that I may not see . . .

But some of them were happy to have found, . .

my window and me.

Looking through my window as a boy:

I counted the stars in the nighttime

until I ran-out of numbers to call them by--

And I wondered, how high was high, if

you could never touch the sky?

And I grew each day in wide-eyed belief,

when my dreams became my memories,

and my memories made up my dreams . . .

When I was young and small,

and the world seemed so tall, . .

my window was, . .

the greatest view of all.


For the Children

* This poem was written and copyrighted before 

the 'Windows' software by Microsoft. Where do you think they got the idea? 

:-)

© 1989 by Jason Leigh

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~ Where the River Always Flows ~

                               (A Folk Song)

1). The shadows from the trees, 

seem to ripple in the breeze.

Imagination dances with the leaves on the ground.

And I get that "old-time feelin', " as I take the urge to go---

To my special place, 

where the river always flows.

2). Up the river, a steamboat's ah-comin', 

her paddle wheel's churnin' slow.

Some children play like whirlwinds, 

on the levee beside the shore.

And I see your face ah-smilin', 

as the wind cuts through your hair---

at my special place, 

where the river always flows.

Chorus:

And I know that we will be,

together on an endless sea---

And stand up tall for what we both believe.

I'm a sentimental man,

but you know I do what I can---

to try to find some heaven, . .

here below.

3). When all my work is done, 

I'll be lying in the summer sun.

Dreamin' of those mountains that I, 

knew I'd never climb.

And I get that old-time feelin', 

as I take the urge to go---

to my special place, 

where the river always flows.

The shadows from the trees, . . 

seem to ripple--in the breeze . . .

 

© 1971 by 

Jason   Leigh

Illustration Details by William Blake

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