Wisdom Kingdom

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To turn the mourning to a song
To claim the weather was your choice
And all the ache a beckoned friend

To want no more than what is now
To plant the flowers among pests
And seeds of doubt in yesteryear

So then, with wisdom, kingdom come

And My Door

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I confess 
I do need the few things that I want
For they’d help me to walk less only 
My heart put to the test
The more longish glance
The brush of a hand
Some help small or grand
And of course, that last dance
Reserved though this is, for the rest