Extracts from a poem I wrote long ago:
Scribbles, I didn’t know what they were about. The devil, why? You don’t understand yet. What gain do I have? Let me tell you how I feel about it: Hidden between the stories of my dark night. Hold on! I need to finish this now. Can you relate to that? Your needs, we were taught that way. Learn something valuable about it. You, You’re worthy!
Glenda 