HEAVEN AND HELL

Copyright 2002 - Dennis Clay Smith

The brisk morning air has a fresh, pleasing smell;

A scent of despair is etched deep in my cell.

Crimson leaves on the hill are so lovely to see;

The warden sees nothing; he won't hear my plea.

I love a fall morning, warm sun on my face;

Unlike the cold dark of my 6 by 8 place.

The guard in the tower was good with a gun;

Now out on the ground's where my life-blood will run.

Song birds are now singing, the woodpeckers wail;

The hounds in the valley have picked up my trail.

A squirrel in an oak, now a beautiful deer,

Sneak closer to me, they have nothing to fear.

My strength is now failing, ground covered in red;

And soon I'll be keeping a heavenly bed.

A sad lonesome leaf drifts down from above

From a mother who held it one year with her love.

One year in the heavens can not tell the worth

Of the thoughts it evokes as it floats down to earth.

A telling while dying, and queer it must seem,

I love and I feel how it captures my dream.