A fresh, blank page ready to be filled
Onto which stories, words, and ideas are spilled
My heart stirs, and out they flow
A fresh adventure putting my face all aglow.
Words I must relate,
They take shape–
Sometimes dashing pleasantly like a laughing brook,
Sometimes growing all tangled and hooked.
After patient labors to polish, to prune
They mingle and blend into a melodious tune
Of a narrative meant to warm hearts
And to bless from the very start.
Thoughts grow quiet again,
And ideas fade dim.
Until another blank page is ready to be filled,
Onto which stories and words are spilled.
| Written by Moriah Simonowich on 3-10-17 |