Oh, woe to me. I rue the day I ever met you. An innocent, petite angel, I believed you to be. A victim of hate, having little friends, you took my pity and softened my heart. Little did I realize, the ones who deserted you were no villains or enemies. They became warriors reborn and ...

Sunday morning—Brisk, cool air— Stirs the skin with a chill.Coffee, liquid warmth, Brown as the autumn leaves,Mixed spices wake the senses. The cat yawns as she stretches—Sinewy and slinky. Her green eyes, lazy but alert.Calm and quiet, This morning-time ritual,Peace before the storm.