Joanna was tired… she went to bed without thinking.

Leaving a small wall vent open.

A vile vapour entered.

A sadness gripped her dreams. Allowing a deep cold to enter her body.

It became a poisonous snake in her life.

Those who did not know her, called her cold hearted.

Yet many where the gifts she sent anonymously to the poor

At her death, a demon arrived and smote the snake.

A million children sang for her, whilst angels carried her to the stars.

For the present time I am using much energy up dating reams of writing notes, so many slivers of material. ‘Joanna’ is one fragment from the mountain. Mike