The words that sometimes with my pen I write in hope that others - who on seeing them might echo me – instead seem like a rose which goes unseen and withers on its stem. Like homing pigeons I’ve loosed to the world, the words that I so strongly feel are true do not return! Oh, where is my reply? Why let them fly at all into the blue? My thoughts I cannot force on anyone, but it would feel so nice to hear the sound of dear beliefs – those similar to mine - reverberate like sweet notes all around. God hears my words, so I should not expect others’ respect for my sincerest thought though I might shout it from the mountain top, then realize the echo returns not.