Your Whispers’ Editor—Gratitude and Best Wishes—By Karen O’Leary

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

It has been a special gift sharing our words, friendships and accomplishments.  Today, in an

effort to share some thoughts, my final poem ended up in the stratosphere…all the Whispers’

blessings and joy that you shared with it, my friends.

We have been an encouraging family…my dreams surpassed anything a gal from North Dakota could hope for. Yet, it is time to let go.  I’ve enjoyed the creative community we shared.

Though it is time, it is hard to let go. Special thanks to Jack and Inge for giving me more time to spend with you.  I will leave you with a poem that many of you have probably read but it seems fitting.

Love and blessings,

--Karen O’Leary

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Carry On

Some days are long;

the road gets tough.

We give it our all

and that is enough.

Friends share our toils

and carry us through.

We learn about love

and generosity too.

We sing of the gift

of a warm embrace.

It lifts our burden

from a weary place.

We learn to look

for others in need.

With grateful hearts,

we spread love’s seed.

Some days are long;

the road is tough.

We give our best

and that is enough.

Tribute to My Colleagues—Inge Wesdijk—The Netherlands and Jack Horne—England

What to joy to share Whispers with my talented colleagues.  Jack and Inge enhanced our online journal’s experience and allowed us more time to share the gift of writing with others. Both, experienced writers, provided a diversity and crossed borders to expand our journal’s horizons. Their willingness to share their light has been a blessing in my life.

I chose a poem from each of them below.  Please stop by and thank them for the hours and hours they put into Whispers. Thank you so much Inge and Jack for the experience of working with you.

Blessings and best wishes,

Karen

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Delicate Dreams

By Inge Wesdijk

In the upper drawer

of my small cabinet

I stored them, safely

Afraid otherwise

they might get lost

When times are tough,

my secret cache opens

and I cherish myself

by the warm compassion

of my delicate dreams

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Hospital Cafe:

By Jack Horne

Sorrow sat at this table;

tears dripped down onto it

from eyes too blurred to see,

as trembling fingers fumbled 

with a bereavement booklet,

and pale lips sipped tea

that tasted only of loneliness.

Those at other tables turned away

fearing sorrow should sit with them...

...next.

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