For it seems,

sometimes, I cannot write

in furtherance,

not taciturn is this.

Rather, says it, take your turn,

in time, that is allowed.

Granted wish, to leaf through a Forest,

of Pages.

 

Held in your hands,

grounded somewhat, am I held,

but not so entwined,

yet supported

just for the steadied assent.

That is this true life tale.

Yet verily, enough to say,

chapter endeth.

 

Yet the fable further entices,

seen, that he is not

out of turn, or time.

Somewhere, in this plot

the ends meet the needs,

of the fire warmed hearts.

A round, that hearth, little dimming,

we usher in anew.

 

Art: Holly Sierra