we’re not artists
in all places, times.
no one’s whole life rhymes.
at moments we may
draw, write, pray.
at others, watch,
love, raise children,
join the fray of being.
let’s love ourselves
await the time
when Spirit calls
then pick up pen or violin
and begin.
Published by
Cynthia M. Sheward
Cynthia Sheward has written poetry since she was a child. She was born in Massachusetts but spent her young life in New Jersey. She applied her English degree from Arcadia University teaching junior-senior high school in Vermont the 70’s. In the 80s, she and her husband built their own house with their own hands in the mountains of North Carolina. In the 90s, she returned to NJ where she worked for a Fortune 500 corporation until her retirement.
Her work has been published in Friends Journal, Evening Street, the Bennington Banner, Fiber Arts Magazine, the Mountain Times and various other print media.
She currently resides in Jupiter, Florida.
View all posts by Cynthia M. Sheward
A WELL TRAVELED HEART 
This is beautiful, Cynthia, words and photo!
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Thank you so much. I struggled for years with not having time, wit, energy to write while I was a single working mother starting her life over. I think creatives demand too much of ourselves sometimes instead of accepting the flow of life.
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So true…
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