When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcaste state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries…..
I work in my garden, meditating as I turn the earth.
What must I let die in order to generate life?
What do I know should die but am hesitant to allow to do so?
What must die in me in order for me to thrive?
What is ugly that I fear that has treasure within?
and then I scorn to change my state with Kings’
apologies to Will Shakespeare
Heather Blakey September 07