A writer, housed within her quiet life,
reminds me of a snail, so hidden, slow.
She works her craft in shadow, down below
the business of the world, the noise, the strife.
Deep oceans roll and offer up their prize.
She watches diamonds glisten on the waves
unlocking mysteries of coral caves
and yes, announcing words before her eyes.
March 9, 2012 at 2:17 pm
lovely !
March 9, 2012 at 5:21 pm
Thank you, R Poet.
March 9, 2012 at 7:05 pm
beautiful, makes me feel humbled an dproud to count myself a writer after reading that description.
March 9, 2012 at 9:59 pm
Thank you, Dancing. I’m going to read your blog now. Looks interesting.