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Abstract
rk made better prose to besmirch life’s book or feed dream’s library of treasures than that made where emotion’s fancy grows.</p><div id="ecf0" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/fields-of-plenty-91c9c755f59a"> <div> <div> <h2>Fields of Plenty</h2> <div><h3>Trust there is enough</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*rN7yPWZRJ7ofsb60fDN9PA.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a>
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<a href="https://readmedium.com/nothing-ends-2d6a00e35018">
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<h2>Nothing Ends</h2>
<div><h3>Because imagination never dies</h3></div>
<div><p>medium.com</p></div>
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</div><p id="b6af"><b><i>Copyright © 2020 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved</i></b></p></article></body>
When the pen dips and mind flows the ink left speaks of cares and woes. Those tales told on pages curl in the light of tear’s trace and laughter wrought from where imagination goes.
And if the stories torch a spark on reader’s brows there never was a mark made better prose to besmirch life’s book or feed dream’s library of treasures than that made where emotion’s fancy grows.
Copyright © 2020 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved