And you arrive, quietly,
in the guise of sonnets in little books,
in the comforting looks of friends
in my dreams at night.
Please do not pass me by, oh,
I will be the dust waiting in the crevice
of the ancient rock.
Come, gentle wind, or violent storm–
while my heart informs mind
that you cannot long be ignored.
“I will be the dust waiting in the crevice of the ancient rock.”
Beautiful. : ) Keep writing.
The power to write what you feel, what you know, what you dream, what you won’t long ignore…
is your gift, lovely Nelly!