Jealousy
2009 January 30
A fine flower
knows no hour of discolor
no shaky state on distasteful soil
her only toil to be fragrant
with supple round petals
softly reaching upward
against the ashen sky.
from → Anne Heraghty, Poetry
Get the latest creative insight delivered for free to your reader or your inbox:
RSS Feed Email UpdatesOh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor to measure words but to pour them all out, just as it is, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keeping what is worth keeping, and then, with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away.
— George Eliot
Copyright 2010 J. Scott Mosel
