Not All Who Wander Are Lost

As you cradle me in your lap like a small child I feel the warm ember of delight growing in my belly...

As I walk through your library With it’s soft ember light And see your classics lined perfectly—just so Pages well-worn, your favorite verses lined...

This evening, we went to Olive Garden to celebrate Mum’s birthday with a group of people from church...

In this dark and seedy place Where you recite words Written by giants—the literary greats...

I do not profess to be a leader A teacher, nor a prophet; I am not a god, although I embraced my inner goddess centuries ago...