Another Scan

Scanning your brain, the doctors will find nothing but poetry and art. Much love and health to you dear Fleur. Love. ~A I wrote a poem about headaches once: Oblivious I think perhaps today I shall be Well-suited in the absence of any particularity I will leave my headache behind with my Genetic composition, immaterial yet all too Significant in this body’s first degree of separation I shall endeavor to be impartial, and offer My throat to the gods high on the portals of clouds, I am thus subscribed to contrive and alter A new reality as of yet congealing Like a few sacred and profane ingredients in a pot, Like a witch, I cackle, I stir, I brew myself into today’s State and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that It is neither mine nor destiny’s decision nor disposition. I must have had billions of incarnations as a mosquito I suppose. I am seeping into the colour amber, Resinous, insidious, and Altogether oblivious. Don’t let your victories go to your head, or your failures go to your heart.

I came back and found this one ... love and health to you dear one ... come back to us as soon as you can ... your laughter and spirit are missed love and hugs Jayne-Chloe x x x

Fleur, think about a blue hydrangea and here you are. Wishes of love and health. ~Anna "To love another person is to see the face of God." Les Miserables