The statue he was,
is cold.

The room,
with it's drawings and reflections,
is still.


And his heart spins instead of the world.

I'm made stronger in holding her
Through her storms.

She's made, all the prettier
In keeping me warm.

It is the little things that
will unlock you.

Don't allow their passage without regard.

They are the small, fresh sights and words
that may stir you to tears
and smiles.

They are of the most ridiculous variety,
so savor them sweetly.

Draw, sing, and write of them.

They are a thousand reflections of collected acquaintance.

And,
in the gathering,

are introductions made.