I fear

I fear my Precious is pregnant,

I can’t take any to the Humane Shelter in Dubuque on the fourth until I raise the funds,

I once read one of many books,

This one’s title sticks with the reader like molasses,

‘Do what you love the money will follow!’

With every letter upon a page or here in this space I do what I dearly love,

I write,

Now with my finger,

Which replaced first a pencil,

Then a pen

My mind,

And my heart,

In many ways I am richer,

Not monetarily but spiritually,,

But upon the whole I battle at times my deep within demons,

Thus these richest are not monetary,

My thoughts and poetry brought me the other day after I read some of my work to an adopted sister from years ago the finest of complements,

It was like after a divine stage performance,

The comic was tossed the nicest bunch of long stem roses she, I had ever seen,

A to kind compliment for my work,

My art,

Equate in an Equation to a sculptor who sees art Erupting from the depths of the chunk of granite he will carve to rescue what others cannot fantom!

This is my work under my old pen name of Val Littlewolf