stillness gives way to the restless beauty of dawn.
. . . A poem written on the day when a person I had cared for and watched slowly die over a month with fear and confusion. A person for whom faith gave no solice or strength. A person in her ninety fifth year, who at the end needed nothing more than the warmth of a hand to hold.
Mike de Sousa
Art Form :
Free to enjoy at Public Art World. May not be used for commercial gain. Copyright maintained.