Tuesday, February 24, 2015


So much snow this year. I think it is a sign.  A sign of great things to come in my future, since I had such a rough past.  Some day I will make it and be a bright star.  I guess I am just learning how to redefine success.  My version will be different from the rest.  And I will be content alone again in life and work.  But some day I will make it and be a bright star.

Bright star in the sky.
A big bright star far away.
Welcome home bright star.
by: Anne Guzman

Bright Star

By John Keats 1795–1821 John Keats
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
         Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
         Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
         Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
         Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
         Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
         Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

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