Her voice
was like an ancient,
wise,
and sad,
musical instrument.
God only knows how long she’d traveled for,
and where she’d been.
Tears falling in the dark,
unheard and unnoticed.
I know nothing about her,
yet her voice still speaks to me,
and tells me things she cannot say.
I hear her pain,
but I also hear her strength.
I see her in my mind,
somewhere far away,
on a green and blessed hill,
taking everything that life has thrown her way,
and then turning it,
into her sad and beautiful melody.
The Journey of the Boy and his Sandcastle 