Hello all… trying something different today… I found an old journal last week filled with poetry from high school.
Taking a stab at a poem-
Her steps are slow but certain,
each one a chapter told.
The floor remembers every tread,
the air grows warm and old.
Her fingers brush the tabletop,
a pause, a steady breath
and in that simple crossing
I see a lifetime’s depth.
No rush, no need for hurry,
no race she must pursue
just wisdom wrapped in gentle pace,
and strength in every move.