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Light a Candle
About The Author:
Forward, always forward I push in the direction of the small
Days and nights I travel across oceans, through deserts and
over mountains until I arrive at a clearing bathed in moonlight.
In the clearing is but a mere girl sitting on the stump of a
long dead tree.
She is a girl with her hair wild about her head, a black kimono
hugging her body with a tie loose about her hips. Quietly, as I
watch, her lips move as the whispers of poetry slip from her
mouth to be carried on the wind.
Excerpt from "Whispers of Poetry"
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