The hand that parts with sorrows that are laden,
Can feel the delicate texture of a leaf’s skeleton.
For she pauses in time and stops to consider
The beauty that is imprinted on her surrounds.
Anxious thoughts are toxic to the body
And are a poison to the soul.
Any catalyst predisposing such should be displaced from the mind.
To be a poor woman who is joyous,
Than to be a rich woman who is embittered.
A cog in a machine is far from the lily in the field.
See how they are clothed in such beauty!
Depression is likened to a black hole
Swallowing a willing victim.
Self pity precedes its seducing grasp; only pride is immunized against its snare.
Seek healing in the solitude,
And comfort in the morning birdsong.
For this is the day that has been made,
So rejoice and be glad in it.
Nomadic Nurse 