A contact, unexpected, from my site.
A journalist requests an interview
A smile, a pause, and then what do I do?
A google search to see if she is right.
Five-hundred rhymes (or so). Can I condense
Events and faces flashed upon our brains
Can listeners connect with what remains,
And in this context, will my words make sense.
This snapshot journal offered up in rhyme
To document our shocking, sad parade.
My hand to you should hope begin to fade,
For blessed or cursed, this truly is our time.
A longing burns for truth and for compassion.
How far these things have fallen out of fashion.