I’ve traveled around the world
without leaving home.
I go anywhere
my imagination wants to roam.
I take a look,
in a folktale book,
and travel on the wings of words.
Soaring to far away places,
ancient times,
or magical spaces,
I find a fantasy view...
reading a book
from the library shelf
marked
398.2
— "Ode to 398.2" by Heather Forest
We’re travelers here
Only passing through
And every breath we breathe is coming back to You
We’re strangers here
I know it’s true
That death is just a door that leads us home to You
— "All That Lives Forever" by Steffany Gretzinger
First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.
— Martin Niemöller
I know a little cottage
Where everything’s just right;
The windows bloom with tulips—
At dusk there’s candlelight.
The knotted oak beside it
Is webbed with ivy leaves,
And honeysuckle tangles
In clusters round the eves.

The friendly gate swings open
Against the low stone wall
Where quaint old fashioned blossoms
Design a paisley shawl;
And up the winding pathway
The stones with moss are grown—
I love this little cottage
Because it is my own!
— "Little Cottage" by Virginia Wauchope Bass