DEAR HP Poets,
       My diary begins to echo with phases on a day when wind moves softly and ducks drift with grace.
       It begins with an entry whereby I take a thought and expand it into a song to light highways in eyes.
       It starts in my quiet existence where words are company and dreams seem idle. Where I moss code my heart to change it into words to scribe.
        My entry is complete as pen scripts gratitude for the poets on distant shores and the ones that perhaps live next door.

                                 Fondly,

                                 Star BG