In our heads there's constant chatter,from whom we're not quite sure. A lying, devious, silly voice that most of us endure.The chatter never seems to stop it blethers while I type. Sometimes it uses fancy words, but mainly words...

This cold, still morn I watch the waking earth,Australian light soft on branch and tree;And feel within a hush a quiet birth,As though divinity had entered  me.And while outside the world does turn and grow.Arisen is a gentler self...