When I sit down to write a poem, the creation begins as a solitary one; but soon even without my knowledge the partner of my most intimate soliloquies and the start of all my quests, the Lord of the seasons and the Master of the universe, begin to widen the circle of creation until finally I am holding the creation of a new poem in my hands. Without His involvement my poetic fancy shall never take flight. Before your mighty presence, I bow my head in thankfulness.
Random Sparks
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