Her Art of Reflection
The nearing winds of time, shall crumble the penned rhymes, For those were the unreal dreams, which masked the verity's incessant screams, An awareness hangs upon her tranquil soul, that before the cloaked reveries, is truth's wall, Which stands firm and shall forever be so, And she resumes her fancy, of being lost in the snow, And so from the milestone of actuality to imaginations, the poetess takes one more stroll of contemplation, But such is the writers' glorious musings' art, They seek, then unearth and are back for a gleaming start......... ~S.S~