So there I was away from it all. So there I was meeting once again the country – an old friend. It never spoke, but that was its gimmick. It never told me to cry to it, but I always cried to it. I sang to it, and spoke to it. It never healed my broken heart once upon a time, but it helped my heart stop crying at the very least. It had overgrown weeds and fields abandoned. But it still looked amazing as it is.
I gave it a voice in my poetry, and it in return gave me a voice.
The Little Novice