This is just the epic I recite—another lie dressed up in light,one smooth line at a time,dripping honey, sweet with rhyme.In the hope it might concealevery raw wound I still feel,tucked beneath each crafted line,woven threads in grand design.More...

A mother's love can't be measured... But it can surely and truly be treasured... For when the weight of the world gets to heavy to bare... A mother with her love will always be there...

August 3, 1788  Cher D. Last night was a treat, you allowed me to wear clothing. A cherry blossom colored robe from Japan with a simple waist tie. It fit like a second skin. Elegant yet sexy. I felt more beautiful...