Dear neglected blank canvas,

    I have not discounted thee,
    Though I wander and I fret.
    Thy heart is still dear to me,
    Even when I seem to forget.
 
    Time, Time, it ever rushes
    Onward, permeating and pulling.
    The reaches of my mind it pushes
    Me, almost to breaking. 

   Yet I shall return,
   One day near at hand
   And maybe I shall learn
   How to stop and stand.

   For my mind is rekindled and bright;
   My soul? Liberated daily.
   Shall I be still for this Light,
   That calls to me so wondrously?

   I answer firmly assured
   That Time shall not defeat
   Thy voice; for it has secured
   My own heart's faltering beat.

               I shall write to thee soon....