Too soon my dear
to raise your head,
and glimpse a little
sky;
Too cold my love
to tempt the breeze..
with icicles in your
bed;
Too grey my sweet
as winter swirls, in
dark December days.
Alone, un-sheltered
courage flares to burst
through heaven and hell.
Stark beauty lies upon
the face of nature's victory
walk.
Don't hide your face against
the wind, stand proud with
head held high.
You are the first but not the last ..
I often wonder why.




that is the magic...the ability to allow a little of ourselves into our perception of the written word
I love how people often see more in something that I write than I had originally intended...is it my subconscious working when I am not looking...or is it that I cannot see what others see..











5 old applause
