Born in a prairie town, at the Grace
of God and Hospital as fall had already
given over to winter.

Falling flakes, landing, sticking here north of North,
South of the Pole, South of the North West Territories.
North of the rest of Alberta, mostly.

I was not born with a witty tongue or ink flowing freely.
For schools and teachers removed most if not all,
so it seemed.  So, if you are a writer, write!

The well maybe deep, dry, unused
                                      and abused, even forgotten and in disrepair.

So if, NO!
     so when you can decide to write again,
     you will and tell all, those nay slayers,
     teachers who shape you so that you have
     no tools to cope with life, tell them all
     that the flood of words about spring out
     of you, some body best build, yet another
     ark.

Now where was I?
I'll get back to you with the other part,
one day, right now trying to restart.
My heart.


©DWE092013