Kevan Smith - Photo

Old photo melts decades from her eyes.  Young spark is vibrant, alive for her future.  But wishes were vague; will not strong; future not as glistening.  God had clay feet; her good times a taste of sadness.  The borne were precious glories that sparkled tears and wishful wonders at every thought; even though the sire faded.  A band of clay feet marched in; stood; stumbling to fade.  But that tiny spark embered a sparkle; growing to a soft glow, protected from tears, warmed by soulwinds; fed from ironwood of experience; bursting independent fire of straight-backed resilience; scarred and proudly strong.