Evelyn Judy Buehler

March 18, 1953 - Chicago
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Foghorn

I was an inscrutable, capricious mystery writer, like a pure mystery of days;
And I had composed best selling novels, like westering sun's scarlet phase.

An unparalleled passion for writing, had for quite long been the motivation,
Behind novels which captured hearts, like pink clouds, drifting in formation.

My office desk faced the picture window, near the border of riotous blooms;
And sunny views enriched often eager eyes, owing to birds of many plumes.

Friends were a forever force in my life, like the natural floods of floundering,
Or as sun and moon meet in an eclipse, darkening heyday, with no warning.

Fairy-like forests, and fields of colored flowers, flamed with furious abandon,
Frequently, as fulgent family found one, to dazzle brighter than amber sun!

I lived in the house of mist mysteries, in haze shrouded, mighty mountains;
And each cherry dawn doled surprises, like roving redbirds in the thousands.

So sleepy in sun-drenched summer, my silent street was stained with hues,
In new modern, stylish, songbird days, like a gold treasure you cannot lose.

Neighbors would navigate narcissistic night, bearing an apple pie, or a joke;
Sharing fun and noisy laughter, like a blue undersea volcano, magma awoke.

Birds swept peaks of sculpted, stunning mountains, in the hot, daisy season,
And sky and the earth merged twice a day, in affinity hues of love cohesion.

The naked man orchid shivered with breezes, like quivery trees of November,
And Johnny Jump Up puckered at lemon sun, like a sour taste remembered.

In a sapphire sea near the mountains, a friend and I set out sailing one day,
As a youth follows wildest, golden dreams. Yet, heavy fog descended to stay.

Were we heading for wide open water, or drifting to shores of purple flowers?
That danger held a lovely mystery, like adventure during the nighttime hours.

Hour after rosy hour, we were drifting blind. Our motor had long since died;
Like green butterflies, questing for hours, in a place pink daisies lately cried.

We were afraid of being lost forever, so Pearl and I joined hands and prayed,
Also praying for our downhearted families, if fate's hand would not be stayed.

After many anxious, vagrant moments, a foghorn sounded, loud and so near;
Our desperate prayers were answered, by the voice of our Savior, very dear!
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