Megan!


All intensity she is,
Written on her face
The race in which she finds herself
A net of tangled lace

Known it is now to her,
This treadmill on which we run
We set ourselves down on it
Not forced at the point or pun.

Her aura rich and friendly,
Her wit so keen and wry,
One likes to be beside her
As work days flee us bye;
She's a rock to tie your faith to.

She weathers on in beauty,
No storm a ravage makes.
Though inside senseing difference
Demands a toll do take.
None wish to lose her being counted.

So wish I her a resting place,
A meadow warm and green,
Where time stands slow and slower still
And friends stand close, serene.
With only altered moments
Can the race life is sustain
The intensity to it you bring
Averting autumn rain.




gf 90