Written by: Cyndi MacMillan

A soul so complete was born of division, yet chin defied wind, she was no paper doll, the girl was honed through minefield precision, and the woman’s growth could not be forestalled. The wisdom in those hands, a tender strength that lifts away thick masks which inter hearts, love is an action and goes to great lengths, it meets violence then mercy imparts. Oh, how she quests and how she questions herself most of all in a sonnet called life, her verse refuses shallow reflection, No! Those lines disturb depths as words jackknife. As giving as stars on a moonless night, My sister ever heeds her yoke of light.
;-) Still pouting? Love from Dee PS--when I grow up I want to be just like you.