Friends made by me

 Een club voor vrienden...

 Home is where your story begins

You may hold my hand for a while, but you hold my heart forever

 We meet on-line to have a great time....
We laugh and we giggle and smile at our screens.
We sit back and wonder what this all means.

We surf the Web, we travel afar,
We span thousands of miles without a car.
We watch conversations flowing on the screen.
We tell jokes and stories and know what they mean.

What are we looking for? Where's the attraction?
How can we do this and get satisfaction?
Who are we? Why are we here?

We are 'The Circle of Friends' made from a chain.
And we're here because friendship is what we gain!
Born on-line formed by few.
We had no idea just what to do.

So we link our pages, first one then two.
And wonder where we'll end up when we're through?
The circle will spread like a wild vine.
It will breathe and whisper like the winds of time.

We are the 'Circle of Friends' made from a chain.
All of our motives are exactly the same.
Searching for friendships all over the lands.
Linking our pages is like holding hands.

We are 'The Circle of Friends' made from a chain.
A chain without an end!!!

 
The Decorator came last night,
With buckets of snow white paint,
With care, She spread it everywhere,
Exhibiting no restraint.
 
While people slept, Here brushes swept
The world to which they would awake,
With skill and speed, She did Her deed,
Her job all done by day-break.
 
A simple scene, pristine and clean,
At dawn's first early light,
Not any print, or mark, or blemish,
Disturbed this awesome sight.
 
A virgin snow upon the ground,
Sparkling in the morning sun,
Dazzling diamonds everywhere,
How rich had earth become.
 
A bit of red flew overhead,
A ruby cardinal on the wing,
It sought a branch on which to perch,
And lift its tiny head to sing.
 
Fine crystal, bead-like lavalieres,
Hung down from hand-picked trees,
Making rainbows where they dangled,
In the sun and winter's breeze.
 
A land bejeweled by the Lady's hand,
So real to mind and eye,
But should men snatch those lovely gems,
They'd surely melt and die.
 
Sculptured grandeur in the morning,
Which might dissolve by afternoon,
Perhaps, by night, just dampened spots,
How sad; all could be gone so soon.
 
That is, until the next snowfall,
When the Decorator comes once more,
And paints the whole world white again,
More lovely than before

Most everybody has a place
To keep their treasured things,
A box, a chest, a trunk, a case,
For anything and everything.
 
Mementos kept throughout the years,
Reminders of good folks, good times,
Old photographs, pressed flowers, perhaps,
Or precious, faded valentines.
 
A mother saves a baby's curl.
And ties it with a pretty bow.
Then wraps it carefully in velvet,
As if it were a piece of gold.
 
A yellowed glove recalls young love,
A tarnished medal, a hero dad,
A set of keys, a first new car,
A baby shoe, a little lad,
 
What's rich to me may be trash to you,
But I'll keep my treasures in my box.
And the things you value that I don't,
You'll keep secure and under lock.
 
Who determines what is treasure?
Who decides the scale to use?
How does one assess a value?
Which is richer - old or new?
 
There are those who rate an item,
By how much the object costs,
Which means it can be bought or sold,
And sentiment is long since lost.
 
Sometimes the value of a present
Is not based at all upon the gift,
But is judged wholly on the donor,
And not a bit on what it is.
 
The more somebody loves one,
The higher the value grows,
That's when a gift becomes a treasure,
And is placed within a box to hold.
 
Then this valued treasure box
Is put away on a dusty shelf,
In a cupboard or a closet,
In a safe place by itself.
 
But often such a  box gets lost,
Over time, down through the years,
It's simply gone; it can't be found,
It has completely disappeared.
 
Rather than cry about one's loss,
It's time to recognize,
The heart is man's true treasure box,
And that's where treasures really lie.
 
Safe and secure within one's heart,
No treasures there will ever age,
Nor will they ever fade or break,
Nor ever, ever stray.

I relax upon a pillow,

Of boughs and leaves of green,

I gaze into the sky above,

It is my time to dream.

I release my mind and free my heart,

I let the wind take me where it will,

I become a dancing leaf,

I am free and I am thrilled.

My lungs inhale the fresh, sweet air,

Washed clean by morning mists,

I savor every breath I breathe,

Like ambrosia on a golden dish.

I have this urge to feel and touch,

And encompass all I see,

Each awesome sight within my mind,

The wonders of my dream.

I am taken far beyond

The mundane things of life,

I float upon white fleecy clouds,

I am fairy-like and light.

I am a child of innocence,

Next I am old with wisdom,

Then I am a bit of each,

Which contributes to my visions.

I must embrace it all

Else my dream not be complete,

I have this overwhelming love,

For everything I meet.

I dream with passion and compassion,

I love the things of which I dream,

For a moment I escape

To places only I have seen.

The peace and love within my dreams,

I cannot give to you,

But I can wish you times to dream,

So you may find your joys, too.