Why is it that, when a friend is in pain, I can write for them?
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Why is it that when Sam's mother died, I immediately sat down and wrote two pieces for him?
Why is it that, at the most arbitrary times, I can find all the words and all the poetry in the world to save someone else from their own pain, their own feelings?
Why is it that, when someone else is hurting, or unsure, I can bring them all the comfort in the world?
Why is it that I can save someone from themselves, even when they don't realize who the culprit is?
Why is it that I can guard and protect and care for and love absolutely anyone in the world in as many different ways as they can ask?
Why is it that, when someone close to me is no longer with me, is no longer with this world, when I'm in need of the same care and comfort and salvation and protection I can give a thousand different people, I have none to give myself?
Now I need You and you--more than ever.
Bless your soul.
-For Emma Louisa Albertina Hau Williams (March 2, 1918 - March 5, 2006):
You were a saint in life, and shall ever remain. Rest in peace, Auntie.
I love you, and I miss you.
'He who knows others is learned. He who knows himself is wise.'
'Tomorrow will take us away,
Far from home--
No one will ever know our names,
But the bards' songs will remain.
Tomorrow, all will be known,
And You're not alone,
So don't be afraid
In the dark and cold
'Cause the bards' songs will remain.
They all will remain
In my thoughts and in my dreams
They're always in my mind....
Come close Your eyes;
You can see them, too.'
The Bard's Song: Into the Forest