Flat Or Round, There Has Always Been

How Massively The Mountains Stand, While Low To The Ground The Sand Blows. The Sand Blows On And On. And Then There Are No Mountains, None At All, The Sand Has Kissed And Whispered Them Away. And Still, The Sand Blows On.

Maidens Who Stay Maidens Turn Into Saints. Old Women Become Sorceresses. Tough Jobs, Both Of These.

As A Child, My Mother Told Me Lots Of Fairy Stories, Many Her Own Invention. She, Too, Tended To Reverse The Norm.

Some Writers, Of Course, Simply Write, As They Feel They Are Driven To Do, By Outer/inner Inspirations. If, After The Work Is Written And, Hopefully, Published, Others Respond -- That Is The Champagne. But We, Or Some Of Us, Don't Write For The Champagne. We Write Because We Write.

If You Run Away From Trouble, It Always Follows.