Big Heart, Wide As A Watermelon, But

But My Future Is A Secret. / It Is As Shy As A Mole.

I Am Younger Each Year At The First Snow.

Once I Was Beautiful. Now I Am Myself, Counting This Row And That Row Of Moccasins Waiting On The Silent Shelf.

Only My Books Anoint Me, And A Few Friends, Those Who Reach Into My Veins.

I’m Lost. And It’s My Own Fault. It’s About Time I Figured Out That I Can’t Ask People To Keep Me Found.