Butterflies are beautiful.
But their babies are ugly as sin.
Scare me to death,
Those squirmy things.
Nobody’d think that someday soon
They’d all have colorful wings.

Struggle, struggle, get out of the cocoon.
Wiggle and wiggle, ’til very soon,
They shake out their wings
And they take flight!

Spectacular! Wonderful!
Their unfurled wings are painted bright!
Then they float above
Heading into the light!


Junk Food

Junk food for the body,
French fries, Coke and stuff.
So many TV shows produced
By Gurus giving lectures.
School lunches being monitored,
With so-called Healthy, but unappetizing food!
It seems that the whole Country is aghast at
What goes into the Body!

However! Does anyone worry about
Junk food for the Mind,
That is popping up all over?
Garbage being shoveled into the Mind
Just as fast as it can go?
Look at those glossy magazines with their beautiful paper.
Whose content reeks with demoralizing articles.
Decent TV shows are few and far between…
Why don’t they pay attention to the Mind!

How about for the Spirit?
“God is dead!” so many chant,
As they sit around and mope.
Lots of Quiet Desperation being dumped around,
To engage in the total destruction of Hope.
I’d like, just for once, someone to talk about
“Food Groups” for the Soul!

The Battle of Monmouth

The Battle of Monmouth took place on June 28, 1778, in Monmouth County, NJ.
It was a blistering hot day. The British marched, in their bright red uniforms,
from the town, which is now Freehold, to the Battlefield.

Right up at the corner,
Where the huge and ancient tree used to be,
George Washington rode, after staying the night,
At the Inn right beside it.

Fathers, Sons, and Brothers,
Dressed in shabby uniforms or ragtag clothes,
Marched right up from Englishtown,
On horse and on foot,
To encounter their Destiny.

They were on their way
To fight the Battle of Monmouth that day,
The heat nearing 100 degrees.
And the Sun, blazing in its rays.

They fought the mighty Redcoated British…
And won!

It is said at the Reinactment,
That many died of the heat and not from musket wounds.
“Molly Pitcher”, the wife of one brave hero,
Kept running back and forth with water,
As soldier, by soldier, called out to her!
“Molly, Pitcher!” As they lay dying in the field!

It is over 200 years later.
I can’t help but wonder
As I drive upon that road,
And look at that renovated Inn,
Standing next to an empty spot
Where that gigantic tree used to be.
What would the General and his troops think,
If they could see,
Cars, trucks, and multiple traffic lights
All along the way?

Would they think of that horrendous Battle?
But, most of all,
Would they think it was worth it?