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