Her curls were blond, her accent sweet,
Her eyes were blue, her smile a treat.
Yet here she sat, in a cloud of doom,
Her shoulders bowed, her face in gloom.
The questions began, upon her lips
As an avalanche, when a small stone trips.
And thus began, her desperate writing,
Her Bible a reference, her pen alighting.
Pages and pages, she began to fill,
Lit by the sunlight, coming in passed the sill…

Thus it begins. The rest of this girl’s story isn’t in rhyme. In fact, I don’t know if any more of it will be and I have no clue where it’s going to go. I might do a mix of poetry and prose – just to see what I can do. I haven’t even named the young woman I’ve described. I haven’t decided if I will or not.

I plan to post it, as I have it ready. We’ll see where it goes…

To the KING be all the glory!