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HOW WAS I TO KNOW?

How was I to know Your love belonged to someone else? How was I to know Your heart wasn't free to love me? How was I to know I'd be broken-hearted By the words you said to me? How was I to know? When I asked you if you loved me, You answered with a sigh, That you'd be gone tomorrow And love would pass me by. No more could I hold you, enfold you so close to my heart; You had found another To be your new sweetheart. How was I to know I'd be left standing all alone? How was I to know Your love had grown cold? How was I to know If I had never been told, How was I to know? Yes, how was I to know? Song written by Alma Morgan and Thomas Howard

THE STICK MAN

He is tall, thin and doesn't move around. But whenever he goes on vacation He likes to get there on the ground. He doesn't eat, he doesn't drink. He is lazy as can be, But whenever I look at him He kinda looks like me. Comic poem by Texas Desselles

THE OLDER A MAN BECOMES ....

The older a man becomes, the fewer friends he has. The friends of his boyhood and young manhood pass away, one by one, so that he is eventually hard-pressed to find another person with common experiences and recollections, and common ground.

If he lives long enough, he will find himself alone among strangers, isolated and without benefit of meaningful contact with humankind, an old man with only memories for companions.

Repelling mental images of past regrets is needful now, a matter of great import, for they weigh heavily on the heart, burdening the soul. Barring their entry into my consciousness shields my mood against the encroachments of droopiness, and I erect barricades against them.

But the brain is an independent operator, not compliant or concerned with the desires of the heart; it maintains an opendoor policy. Reason, with its capacity to separate the sheep from the goats, is the gatekeeper, the only faculty for winnowing the sensations and perceptions that constantly assault the mind; and past regrets do get by it now and then.

Submitted by Otis Rainwater