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Copyright 2020 Mayumi Cruz

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His feet tapped on the window sill, finding rest for his tired, wind-whipped body.

The mother whispered, “Go away,” but abruptly stopped when her child grasped her arm, weakly shaking her small head.

In gratitude, he sang her a beautiful song. She rewarded him with a dazzling smile.

From then on, the window remained open. Day, night, rain, or shine, he came and sang to her, his heart full of love.

Until one day, he found the window closed, its curtains drawn.

He understood. In grief, he wept, perched atop a tree. Wings folded, he sang a song for her…still. 

//Mayumi Cruz

Sing me our song, darling

Hum us our mystic tune

That melody all our own

Our rhythm of age-old.


Grant me this briefest joy

As I close my eyes and sigh

And remember with a smile

When you were still mine.

//Mayumi Cruz

Swirling, whirling

Round and round.

Spinning, howling

Violent frenzy.


Breathless, mindless

Tangled, twisted.

Pulled into a vortex

Drowned in passion

Lost, gloriously

In the tornado named you.

//Mayumi Cruz

We are all characters

Our lives, stories

Under The Writer’s fingers.

Works in progress,




Yet every now and then

We are given free rein

To write ourselves.


To close plot holes

Correct errors

Join incoherent parts

Rectify tenses.

To improve our style

Perfect our voice

Rethink our life’s theme

And make ourselves resonate.


We are all WIPs

Yet we can turn ourselves

Into great stories

Before The Writer


The End.

//Mayumi Cruz

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