Stop talking she thought to herself as she sat uneasy
What it before her may be what is askew
Or off to the right, along the gravel shoulder
Imagination comes alive like a store needing to be told
But to see, she simply closes her eyes
And knows what is needed will come forth
Like a fog creeping in during a cold, dark night.
Quietly tip toe through the tulips
In a unique voice we all laugh at
Yet serious and serene
What is before me?
Bright colors of life unfolding
Quiet. Quiet. Quiet.
And strong.
Softly focus
With wiggling toes stretch for the stars and always be bold.