Although the fires of Hestia
Danced in her eyes and did gently burn,
That same familial flame, in truth
Leaped beyond the hearthstone,
My sense of vision to consume.

So too, her voice did resonate;
A teasing wind, a bubbling brook,
Yet, as those sounds came gushing ‘round
They swept me from my rocky perch
And I, in dreams, was cast adrift.

And as her touch bequeathed to me
The healing balms of innocence and purity,
Her fingers chanced to penetrate my skin,
Her delicate, imaginative hands,
Transforming
All that I was,
Into
All that I am.


Michael S. True
2-14-07 - Last edit 11-01-09