By Megan Lewis, TIWP Student

The words were already in the pattern of the music;
they sprang from it.
Painted in colors of rose and gold,
poetry shifted into a symphony,
into a lullaby.
Just as water evaporates in the summertime
and the trees shed their leaves,
I found myself growing.
Changing.
In the music, I imagine a sunset.
I can see memories of days woven
from unbridled happiness
and messy laughter.
I never want to stop making music
and I don’t want to forget
all the joy it’s brought me.
My piano puts color into a monochrome life.
My guitar makes the daffodils sing,
and a choir of voices sounds like love.
Still, people grow older and stop doing the things
that once made them feel alive.
This was the frightening reality of moving with “the world.”
My world holds a lot more comfort.
So as the blue birds continue to wake me from slumber
and the sky continues to warm in early June,
I will write,
I will sing,
and I will love.