An Octave on Love

An eagle flies high in the sky,
And the grand mountains cry goodbye
As valleys low begin to sigh,
And your great love will never die

As surely as the river flows
Into the ocean deep below,
There will be seeds of love to sow,
And rains of peace will make them grow


Be All of Me (An Octave)

You can fly high into the sky,
You can dig low below the dirt,
You can run for fun in the park,
You can sing to bring happiness,
You can cry as you say ‘goodbye,’
You can deep sleep without a peep,
You can wake at the break of dawn,
But you will still be all of me…

And On the Eighth Day

We ride the tidal wave of hope toward the coastline of inspired vision;
It is our destiny in proportion to our dreams spun in the halls of heaven.
Our eyes are wide open to the myriad possibilities of grand, living life,
As we grab hold of the mystical hand to walk now on the water of miracles.
No evil wraith taunts our minds, nothing wicked haunts our open hearts,
For we have taken the higher way — rough and rugged and narrow but true.
Blue skies become our ocean with slowly floating, wispy white islands,
Burning Sol our guide by day, serenely sweet Luna shepherdess by night…

Tell me, pilgrim, do you know to where we journey on this the eighth day?