We've waited all our young lives
for this moment...

There is something
about Winter...

Ballerinas no longer pirouette
from the tiny pink music box...

Saturday mornings
were made for bowls of Fruity Pebbles...

As children often do,
I too, begged and pleaded...

Thousands of hours over many years
we have planned and plotted our journey...

Toasting mallows
over graying ashes...

Medley Of a Heartache
Ascend the summit...

I am Tuesday's child,
born on an August morning...

Freshly brewed coffee beans
wafts upon ribbons of autumn...

When the mirror was upon me
to explain my vanity...

Retaliation
settles deep...