'Winds of Wild', by Josephine Mead

And the year was full of friendship and laughter
Of patches of brilliant color,
that were constructed and re-imagined in her paintings
Painting- the one constant.
And there was love,
so much love
Friends and family,
an ocean of adoration
And yet the wonder she pined for could hardly be imagined
And so, she often felt lonely and bewildered.
Sleepless nights welcomed the loneliness in
And time, or coincidence, or decision or some elusive something-or-other
kept the tenderness and affection at bay.
Partial to jealousy and melancholy, she cried quite often.
Her ocean of tears, evaporating on her cheeks
Where did they all go?
She filled her room with found treasures
and books that had been sprinkled and battered with pictures
Material replacements of attempted and desired dreams.
She wanted so much from the world.
If only trepidation did not swell at her shores.