Musings on personal growth, books, motherhood, writing, and more. "Every hour is saved from that eternal silence, something more, a bringer of new things." – Tennyson
Oh Shaper of spirits, you lead our swings
from depths to heights. (But who shaped your feelings?)
We blaze and bend, until your sermon’s end.
The people–oh, the evil–ah, my sin!
Atonement, then, and joy! (What have you been?)
Souls surge, wits disappear, while we are here.
(Away, at work, I wonder—do you know
why you believe in this, but in that, no!—
and how you wield the power to make us yield?)
The pitch and toss made me ill;
I had to leave to breathe. Still,
Preacher, you instruct my quill.