I Seem To Have Always One Little

The Soul, At Peace, Reflects The Peace Without, Forgetting Grief As Sunset Skies Forget The Morning's Transient Shower.

My Own Curiosity And Interest Are Insatiable.

Naught Is Too Small And Soft To Turn And Sting.

I Am Never Going To Write For The Sake Of Writing.

There Is No Comfort Looking Forth Nor Back, The Present Gives The Lie To All Her Past.