MASTER OF THE GUITAR


  Hammer of the God's, like a wizard, black magic,
  Possibly,

  An outfit he wears, decorated with dragons and snakes,


  Black attire, tassels hanging from that which he wears.


  Master of his guitar in hand, double neck belongs to him,


  Magician of musical sound as he dances across the stage,


  From a legendary Led Zeppelin band, he is the great 
  Jimmy page.

  Bow in hand, he strums to Dazed and confused, mystical 
  Tunes,

  Animated, with such a floor show, speed of his fingers, go
  Jimmy! go!

  Master of the guitar, magnificently he plays, from England, 
  The amazing Jimmy Page.
                               Keith Garrett

                          LAUGHTER IN THE WOODS


  How deep the woods, into the mist of the early morning,


  Through the trees, my feet walk upon the aging leaves.


  Can't see the sky beyond the trees so high,


  Quiet is the sound as I move along.


  Something there, an echo through the cool, wet air,


  Laughter far off in the distance, no one there.


  I search as it calls to me, my curiosity,


  Listen to it i do with no direction be known.


  Are you there, are you anywhere, someone,


  Laughter in the woods, only laughter in the woods.


  How strange it seems, am i only in a dream,


  The sounds of neverending laughter are here.


  Laughter in the woods, nothing but laughter in 
  The woods.

                                Keith Garrett 

                                          DREAMS'


  Dreams, like the hopes and wishes that rest In our hearts,


  Some come true, If for us only a shattered few, like you.


  Dreams' are a look Into the future of our wanting thoughts,


  Reasons' and seasons' for them to be or be not.


  Dreams' may bring love to a heart so lonely and of care,


  What Is a dream If never with another shared.


  I dream of one day when a dreamers' heart finds mine


  We'll walk as one but two different lives.


                              Keith Garrett

                         DOES THE SKY DREAM?


 The sky Is always night somewhere In our world,


  Does It dream, as It sleeps' there where It rests.


 Awake as It does to the morning sunlight,


 In another place, It goes to bed again for the night.


 There are friends' all around this wide open space,


 That watch over each other In Its' universe.


 Does the sky dream, always as It exists,


 What would It say If to us It spoke


        Keith Garrett                

                                "THE RIDER"


  He'll ride In the morning, through the day travels 
  The road,

  High upon the hills, a shadow beneath the clouds, 
  He rides.

  Into the wind, the rain blowing against his face, he 
  Rides,

 The snow falls, as through the mountain passes he Is
  Moving.

  A man with no name, throughout the land, maybe a 
  Glimpse,

 He's known only as the rider, carrying whatever for hire.


 This horse he rides, with colors of solid black and white 
  Spots,

  A demon creature, wicked with speed like the wind.


  Brown and black hat worn on his head, gives a
  Mysterious appearance,

  A coat so long for cover and warmth, shields him from
   Weather, the rider.

  Boots on his feet of dark, broken In pattern, can be 
  Noticed In the stirrups,

 This man of the land rides and rides, just he and his 
  Faithful Companion.

  Like a ghost so quiet, he roams the wild wilderness of life,


  He's known as the rider, Into the night he rides.


                               Keith Garrett

                     PAINTED CLOUDS

  I walk the morning, the air has a chill and a breeze,


  Out In the distance, above the hills, they float like 
  Balloons.

  Shapes or sizes, and colors of difference,


  Splashed across the sky are painted clouds.


 Vanish, they go away for a moment In time,


  Reinvented, shaped from heaven above.


  Pastel colors appeared In my sight,


  Rays of light from the sun, trying to peek through.


  An Invisible smile, a memory of a face sketched,


  Forever In my mind, eyes of beauty, a voice that echoes


                      Through the clouds.


                                             Keith Garrett

                               MR. FITSCHU


  A fictional character from back in time,


  On a planet of giants, no peace could he find.


  Running for his life as everything was an adventure,


  Not a task was small, each day was like forever.


  What seemed  like a nightmare was reality for him,


  They were not monsters, in fact, human just as he.


  Not friendly as they would not understand this,


  A freak to be put in a cage, laughed at, a prisoner.


  Mr. Fitschu would forever be running for his life,


  Always watching, in the land of the giants.

                   Keith Garrett

                               All that I see


  Far In the distance I see hills' standing still,




  Trees of green blowing In the breeze, falling leaves.




  Grass of green that I see below me, vision of paradise,




  A lake that sits' beneath the sky, this sky sometimes cries.




  I am a dreamer who sees with heart and soul,




  All that I see Is not only a dream.



                                              Keith Garrett

                                   AN OLD MAN


  I saw an old man, standing in the sand, with cane 
  in hand, Staring out at the horizon,

  I asked of him what his thought's were about,


  He stared at me with a sigh and a smile.


  "I'm one hundred and three as I look to the sea"


  "I've outlived my wife and family"


  "I've had a life, seen many wonderful things"


  "Now an old man, old as the trees"


  "I say old man! what is it like to be one hundred
  And three"

  "I don't know, I only know what it's like to be me"


  I asked of him, would you wish to again be a child,


  He replied, 'my only wish is to again see my wife's smile"


  I asked to him an old man, what's the greatest thing you 
  Have done in such a lifetime,

  His words to me were this, "I married a beautiful wife, I 
  Walked with her in the sand"

  " I saw her smile, and now here I stand"


                             Keith Garrett   

                                 A PICTURE OF YOU


  Plenty of times I saw you, watched as you changed,


  A portrait of a baby, many years ago as time has aged it,


  As a child, you appeared a certain way, young at play.


  From twelve to seventeen, a face that went different ways,


  Twenty was a special year, your first child, a boy named 
  Gary.

  Seven children as the years went by, your picture changed,


  Beyond eighteen or twenty five, seasons changed in your eyes.


  Mom! I miss you, I think I can hear you when I sleep in 
  The night,

 A picture of you rests in my sight, a picture of you in a 
  Book That I write.

                                          Keith Garrett