Intricate lace woven around lovely memories of family,
kept in treasured parts of hearts and souls.
Following dreams of interior desires, leading into
pathways of creativity, allowing self to become an
artist of prose.
Never tiring of writing through music, being listened
to quietly in this mind, letting it take me mysteriously
wherever it would like to.
Turning every corner, watching all of life giving thoughts
to think of and ideas to unfold from this mind.
Left here on many pages of poetry where people are able
to read anything that has been spoken in silent quiet
passive words of intellect and imagination.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem