She walked slowly

across the barren land,

rough woven cape her only protection

against the blazing sun;

step after step after step.

Her feet burned in the thin leather sandals

strapped loosely on her feet,

the only protection between

the burning sand and the jagged stones;

step after step after step.

Her limp, lifeless head

weighed heavily on her weakened body

causing her journey to

become more laborious with every step;

on and on and on.

She knew somewhere she must

lay down her bundle and rest,

But not now, not yet-

just one more

step after step after step.

copyright 2001Jane Tilton

Jane Tilton writes:

Bio...Oh dear, I hate writing Bios...That is from doing too many art shows where judging quality is based on where you studied, what you have sold, the past awards you have won and whose houses your works are hanging in, rather than the artistic quality of the work.

I have no past or present..only "Now."  My joy comes from an ink with muses, directed reading and creative energy from God.    That is my truth but that is not what you want, I know...So:

I am 70.  Self educated. Published in "Crone Chronicles."
Separated after 50 years of marriage. Cope with Multiple Sclerosis. Paint in oil.

That is the personal me except for three children and six grandchildren. I am glad you like my poem.  I call it a soul gift that came out of meditation.... My mother is 92 years old, blind, and deaf.  Death totally baffles me.  That is what motivated me to write this poem.

For a visit with Jane, stop by her Writing Room