A whisper now, a whisper then;
A heart is scarred--we know not when.
A whisper here, a whisper there;
A broken heart is found somewhere.
V.C.
My Aunt Virginia was a teacher and a poet. Sadly, a number of her poems were on tissues and paper bags or whatever she could find when she had the urge to write and many are lost forever. She would wake up in the middle of the night with a poem screaming to be released. Where ever she was, if the urge struck, she had to write. Many were published but most weren't. I hope to rectify that here. All copyright to these poems belongs to me now. She is second from the left in the photo above.
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