Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Gone, my husband, my sons.
My king wears a golden crown.
My present queen sleeps warm.
Nobles, taking my daughters,
left alive alone a woman not so old,
in a frozen hovel, colder bed,
listening to winter’s wolves
snuffle at a broken door.

Jim 12/17/10

I want more--more about them all--more details--more dreams. I like it. I love the possibilities and the directions--everything, but not the facts of the hovels and loneliness.

Thanks!

Thanks to you, too. I must sleep and dream about those possibles. jim

I couldn't have said it better.
H