The cells beneath my cortex are alive and well.

I refuse to listen to the bell that tolls the passage of the years.

The arrogance of thunderstorms, the unexpected,

May inspire some to build a shrine to life's unfounded fears.

But although the winding streams and rivers now display an eagerness

To receive my willing tears,

I heed the Mighty Trumpeter who announces the arrival

Of another precious day.

I touch the velvet texture

Of flowers bravely flaunting a kaleidoscope of color:

An illumination of God's sense of beauty

In magnificent array.

C Rhoda Joseph, 2002