Heather Mirassou - Author
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Laughter echoing in the country You pluck the Autumn
Fraught in the wild I hang on a moonbeam.
I am a wanderer and a poet.
I cannot silence my victor To cry unlettered words
Falling deep Wearing down Desperate for energy I am beaten A broken harpstring
Forever look deeper Find Your core There is only one keeper Yet always more
Universal nature Mountains, winds and woods Her throne
And my tears became water brooks…
“Poetry can be dangerous, especially beautiful poetry, because it gives the illusion of having had the experience without actually going through it”. ― Rumi