I was left in the flood waters of Hurricane Milton, to fend for myself, The future looked bleak as the waters began to swell. Then, a Trooper with a heart I caught his eye, Rescuing me, now my spirit can fly.
I will never be the same, I know it’s true, With love and care, my life starts anew. I am so proud Trooper is now my name, A symbol of hope, a life reclaimed.
I was lucky, a tender heart set me free, But there are many cousins still waiting like me. At your local shelter, they long for the same, For a chance at life, a brand-new name.
The dog sat quietly, eyes full of grace, Watching the customers in this busy place. They took their meals, and with each bite, Exchanged for notes, a common sight.
But then he rose, with a piece of a leaf, His eyes full of innocence, hope, and belief. As if he knew the trade we make, He offered his token, for hunger’s sake.
With nothing but trust, he made his plea, And in that moment, it was clear to see— A heart so pure, with no demands, Just seeking kindness from human hands.
I took his leaf, and with a smile, Fulfilled his wish, though it took a while. In that small act, we both could see, The beauty of simplicity, in perfect harmony.
Thank you, Georgia Police K9 Foundation, For your heart and dedication to our nation. With support from those who care so much, You’ve helped keep Denny in a loving touch.
Brave K9 Denny, your service is true, You’ve protected us all, through and through. Now it’s time for you to rest and play, To enjoy retirement, day by day.
For years you’ve stood by our side, With loyalty and courage, never to hide. Now may your days be calm and free, Happy and healthy as they should be.
Thank you, dear Denny, for all you’ve done, Now go and bask in the warmth of the sun. Your service remembered, your bravery shines bright, Enjoy your retirement, with peace in sight.
Old barns have a history all their own, Where hay once piled and tobacco was grown. Cows, horses, sheep, and goats alike, Made it home through day and night.
On barn-raising day, it gleamed so bright, A sturdy frame in morning light. But years of storms, of wind and rain, Have left their mark, a lasting stain.
Now the beams are worn, the paint has peeled, The echoes of life no longer revealed. But in my heart, those days remain, Bringing a tear, a sweet, soft pain.
For though the barn now stands in rust, Its memory holds a sacred trust. A symbol of toil, of life once shared, Where love and labor stood prepared.
Old barns may fade, but never die, For in our hearts, they still stand high. A testament to days gone by, Bringing a tear to my grateful eye.
In the quiet woods where shadows fall, A woodpecker's tale begins to call, To the task at hand with patient care, Finding a tree that stands tall and fair.
The deadwood trunk, a hollowed prize, Beneath the gaze of autumn skies, Becomes the canvas, rough and true, For a winter's feast in every hue.
With careful beak and measured pace, The woodpecker starts to carve its place, Each hole a cradle, snug and tight, Neither too large nor small in height.
Too wide, the thieves would have their way, Too small, the bounty would decay, So, in between, with master’s hand, The woodpecker crafts a storage grand.
Summer's end, the work complete, The ripened acorns, smooth and sweet, Are tucked within the wooden walls, In secret chambers, nature’s halls.
Fifty thousand, a mighty store, The woodpecker's winter—famine no more. And as the cold winds start to sing, The bird will rest, content with spring.
A testament to patience, skill, And nature’s will in seasons still, The woodpecker's legacy, so fine, Is etched in bark, a steadfast sign.
In shadows deep, where wild winds sigh, A pack emerges, howls to the sky. We are the guardians, hearts unchained, To save the wolves, our spirits trained.
In forests dense and mountains high, We hear their calls, their mournful cry. With strength and grace, they roam the night, A symbol of nature’s ancient might.
Our small band, with hearts so bold, A tale of love and care unfolds. To repopulate, to save, to mend, These noble creatures, our dearest friends.
We bring them food, we bring them cheer, To keep them safe, to keep them near. No hunter’s snare, no poacher’s game, Shall dim their light, or taint their name.
For in their eyes, a world we see, Of wild and free, of destiny. With every step, with every breath, We stand against their threatened death.
Together strong, we forge our way, To brighter nights and safer days. A promise made, a vow to keep, To guard the wolves, awake, asleep.
So let the world hear our refrain, A song of hope, amidst the rain. For we, the pack, shall always strive, To keep the spirit of wolves alive.
In Yellowstone's embrace, where wild spirits roam, A rare white buffalo is born, prophecy's tome. Lakota voices whisper through the windswept grass, A sacred sign emerges, as ages past.
A calf of snowy white, a vision pure, A symbol of hope, of times to endure. Blessing bestowed, yet a cautionary tale, A call to protect where the wild ones prevail.
Chief Arvol Looking Horse speaks with ancient grace, His words a solemn echo in this hallowed place. "This birth," he says, "is both blessing and warning, A dawn of better times, yet a sign of mourning."
The earth's heart beats with each creature's plight, Guardians of nature must rise to the fight. For in this calf's eyes, we see a plea, To shield our world, to let it be free.
So let us heed this sacred birth's decree, To honor and safeguard all we see. For in the white buffalo, a truth profound, Better times await, if we protect this ground.
This is a photo of them together with their new children. Credit: Bishop Family Farm
Sad night last night, shadows deep, The ewe’s heart heavy, unable to sleep, Her lamb, stillborn, gone too soon, She cried through the night, under the moon.
In dawn's soft light, a new hope gleams, For sorrow yields to brighter dreams, The ewe on the right, with twins so small, Has heard the grieving mother's call.
A gift of love, so pure and kind, One tiny lamb, now reassigned, From mother’s heart to mother’s care, A bond of life, beyond compare.
Now brighter days, with joy in sight, Two mothers share the morning light, One grieving heart, now healed by grace, As love and life find their place.
In fields of green, beneath the sky, Two mothers watch their lambs run by, A story told of loss and gain, Of tender hearts, through joy and pain.
Animals are incredible, showing respect more than some, With hearts that speak a language to which we often succumb. Bill Brock spoke of a moment, profound and silently still, A grave site visited, a testament to a will.
He walked with his companion, a creature of gentle grace, Though never knowing death's shadow, it found a solemn place. The dog lay down in reverence, an instinctive silent plea, As if it understood the weight of the sacred cemetery.
In stillness, there was wisdom, in quiet, there was a bond, A photo captured the essence, a moment to be fond. For sometimes in their silence, animals understand, Respecting life's great mysteries, more than many in this land.
So let us learn from creatures, their simple, profound respect, In moments of deep sorrow, their actions we reflect. For in their silent reverence, they teach us to be kind, To honor life and memory, with love and peace of mind.
