GloMag GloMagMay2020 | Page 203

Into autumn's burnt ashes and all the saddened masses; It was winter's chill when my spirit lifted; my heart thrived from a dead frozen shard and my soul was forever freed. Just because you're breathing doesn't mean you're alive. At sunset the heron soars effortlessly into the twilight; the waves now whisper to the rocks and sandy beaches; great tides fall slowly as the full moon rises in a pink sky; a lullaby rocks me to sleep as moonlight kisses my cheek. 203