Willow House Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

For the first time eating at Willow House, walking in the
door, feeling a sense of materialistic poverty.

But deeper down, touching my soul, feeling a wealth of
talent residing beneath the rafters.

Odds and ends, bits and pieces, of artistic endeavors all
around, reminders of past renditions and expressions.

Feeling like a billow for a moment, sucking in and blowing
out the pressures of a business day at work.

Enjoying the quiet, small town ambiance of Willow House,
eating, writing, creating what it is I'm meant to.