And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric
vibration. Our sense, restored, never to
be then same, whisper to us. They existed.
They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.
3 comments:
Perfect. Thank you. I posted this link to my favorite recitation of And Still I Rise over on Facebook. Enjoy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqOqo50LSZ0
Thanks, Nan!
this is just so wonderful. thank you.
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