A House of Boys

I grew up in a house of boys,

Four brothers strong, and always friends,

Where sleds and toy guns were our toys,

Completing wins our only ends.

My parents were just wonderful,

They took us camping everywhere,

To lakes and forest bountiful,

In all that nature gave us fair.

We would at night in campfire see,

The embers glow before us light,

As tired eyes and joyous we,

Began to dream of morrow’s sight.

With every trial or trail we’d roam,

Find frogs and fish upon our way,

We never thought of going home,

This wilderness was ours to stay.

Fine memories we’ve forged in gold,

Like precious metal in the fire,

And poured and shaped into the mold,

A ring of yesterday’s desire.

We now are aged and time gone by,

And wish we could recapture past,

One only needs to close their eye,

To dream and hold those moments fast.

Life moves and captures our true heart,

With each new memory we hold,

It adds the detail and the art,

And filigrees that edge of gold.

Peter Lowell Paulson

August 27, 2010

Each Morning From my Porch

Each morning from my porch I view

Before the Sun’s arise,

The streetlight shining on the dew,

Amidst grey morning skies.

The neighborhood is silent; still,

And most still slumber on,

The day with every promise will

Alight with new day’s dawn.

A moth it hovers near the light

Above the street so near

Its wings in constant flutter flight

To reach this lamp so dear.

I love these morning moments fair,

When deer will silent roam,

Back toward the woods and safety there

Within their forest home.

This time of morn is wondrous free

In winter or in spring,

I thank my God for all I see.

And all that life will bring.

Peter Lowell Paulson

August 21, 2010

Happiness

When exploring for riches to find,

In your life as you toil in this place,

The key to your treasure in kind,

May be found by the end of the race.


The time in each day tarries on,

Each day seems to render its toll,

We move through life hither and yon,

In search of its ultimate goal.

There are many who look to their past,

To remember their happiest day,

With fine metals in gold we must cast,

To preserve our memories that way.

E’en others will find pleasure where,

In a search for a cure that they seek,

To cover the hurt that they bear,

Uncovering fixes quite weak.

True happiness comes in the now,

Just open your “eyes” and you’ll see,

God offers a day to endow,

To trust in His will and be free.

Peter Lowell Paulson

August 17, 2010