My aunt gave me the sea
in a book big as me.
Curled in a chair, I
wandered tidal pools
despite the Christmas chill
held hermit crabs
and starfish
inhaled salt air.
I walked that book’s pages
with childlike devotion
an eight-year-old explorer
baby beach comber.
Robert Frost’s snow drifted
into my 4th grade class and
I listen for his horse’s bells
as I practiced writing
and first used an ink pen.
Line by cursive line
his poetry became mine
along with the smell of ink,
the feel of good paper,
the love of pens.
I began my own poems
in solitude, sweet solitude…
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A WELL TRAVELED HEART 
Another beautiful poem. I miss seeing your sweet face.
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It is such an honor to be able to read about your past through your poetry. I can’t thank you enough for sharing as they brighten my day. Love you!
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I can hear, smell, and feel ALL of this ❤Thank you, Tyson!
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Thank you, Tyson
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Love you right back!
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