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Maybe, as we commemorate the centennial of the Easter Rising we should remember the revolutionaries and continue to dream; dream of peaceful resolution to so many of our world’s conflicts. #Womensvoice1

3/27/2016

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Today is Easter Sunday 2016, and it marks the 100th anniversary of the Easter Rising in Ireland.
This is something I knew nothing about until I started searching for Easter poetry, and I came across a very important rebellion that took place in Ireland in 1916. The event gave rise to a great surge in mixed sympathies and emotions, and a subsequent out pouring of Poetry, the most famous of which was written by WB Yeats, entitled Easter 1916.
 Reading about this rebellion has given me new insight into the history of the struggles between Northern and Southern Ireland, and the United Kingdom. When I was at school, I was too young to grasp the gestalt of the IRA bombings and the Sinn Fen demonstrations. We were not taught the political history of Ireland, and the media seemed to emphasize the issue as essentially a struggle between Protestants and Catholics. The Rising can be seen as a foundational event that explains the struggle of the Irish people who wanted independence from the United Kingdom, which, despite a century forward, has not entirely actualized.
The Irish had staged rebellions against British rule for centuries without ever achieving the aim of independence. At the start of the 20th century, that looked like it was about to change as the British Government was considering Home Rule. However, negotiations fell through at the outbreak of WW1, leaving politically unfinished business.
200,000 Irishmen went to fight for Britain in the First World War, and the Irish began to question why they shouldn’t be fighting for Ireland instead. England was fighting to protect small nations such as Belgium, and nationalists pointed out that Ireland was also a small nation that had been occupied by the British for centuries. Nationalists felt that Ireland too should be free.
 
On Easter Monday, April 24th 1916, a group of Irish nationalists proclaimed the formation of the Irish Republic, along with 1600 followers. They staged a rebellion, seizing prominent buildings in Dublin, with little resistance.
The general post office became the main headquarters of the rebellion, with five of the seven members of the Military Council/Provisional Government of the Irish Republic serving there.
 The proclamation called for the Irish abroad to rally to the cause especially the “Exiled children in America.”
 It was the only proclamation of its era that mentions women’s equality, beginning “Irishmen and Irishwomen.”  
The British authorities only had 400 troops to about 1,000 Irish rebels when the rising began. Yet, within a week, reinforcements arrived, and the rebellion was put down.
Many of the rebels were executed, despite a laying down of arms by the rebels to protect the Dublin citizens.
The Gaelic tradition is steeped in poetry and evocative stories, and it is not surprising that the rebel, and the dispossessed found expression in poetry and song for their dreams of freedom and independent rule.  On that fateful Easter Monday morning   in 1916, there were three young poets who stepped out to protest their country’s independence. Padriac  Pearse, Thomas Macdonagh and Joseph Plunkett were amongst those poets who wrote of freedom for Ireland.
Pears’s poem, The Rebel includes a passionate declaration of his repressed heritage

 I am come of the seed of the people,
The people that sorrow,
That have no treasure but hope,
No riches laid up but a memory.
Of an Ancient glory.
 
The rebellion produced mixed emotions amongst the Irish people at the time, but once the British began executing the rebels as “traitors” and not even giving them a proper burial, the tone changed. The British were seen as cruel, brutal and punishing, and it fueled the nationalist cause.
 
Songs were sung for those who laid down their lives, recruitment to the British Armed Forces dropped, and Irish nationalism as a whole was rejuvenated.
Women played a key role in the Rising, with over 200 members of the women’s auxiliary branch of the Irish Volunteers, fighting for Irish independence
Some wonderful poetry has emerged from the Easter Rising, from participants and onlookers.
 
 While in Kilmainham Gaol, Pearse wrote his final poem as a farewell to life while awaiting his own execution:

The beauty of the world hath made me sad,
This beauty that will pass;
Sometimes my heart hath shaken with great joy
To see a leaping squirrel in a tree,
Or a red ladybird upon a stalk …
 
‘The Foggy Dew’, by Canon Charles O’Neill
Is one of my favorite poems, with a haunting Irish tune, yet I really knew little of the history until I realized it today.
 
As down the glen one Easter morn to a
city fair rode I
There armed lines of marching men in
squadrons passed me by
No fife did hum nor battle drum did
sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus bell o’er the Liffey swell
rang out through the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin town
they hung out the f lag of war
’Twas better to die ’neath an Irish sky
than at Suvla or Sedd El Bahr
And from the plains of Royal Meath
strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia’s Huns, with their
long-range guns sailed in through the
foggy dew

’Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go
that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla’s
waves or the shore of the Great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse’s side or
fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we will keep where the
Fenians sleep ’neath the shroud of the
foggy dew

But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell
rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in
the springing of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze,
at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom’s light
might shine through the foggy dew

Ah, back through the glen I rode again
and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men
whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and
I’d kneel and pray for you,
For slavery f led, O glorious dead,
When you fell in the foggy dew
​

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The Wayfarer, by Patrick Henry Pearse

The beauty of the world hath made me sad,
This beauty that will pass; 
Sometimes my heart hath shaken with great joy
To see a leaping squirrel in a tree,
Or a red lady-bird upon a stalk,
Or little rabbits in a field at evening,
Lit by a slanting sun,
Or some green hill where shadows drifted by
Some quiet hill where mountainy man hath sown
And soon would reap; near to the gate of Heaven; 
Or children with bare feet upon the sands
Of some ebbed sea, or playing on the streets
Of little towns in Connacht,
Things young and happy.
And then my heart hath told me:
These will pass,
Will pass and change, will die and be no more,
Things bright and green, things young and happy; 
And I have gone upon my way
Sorrowful. 
Patrick Henry Pearse
 
To the poets and rebels of 1916, the future of Ireland was closely linked to the next generation of Irish men and women, who would keep the revolutionary ideals alive. In his  poem, Wishes for my son, born on St Cecilia’s Day, Thomas MacDonagh  expresses his own hopes for his son’s  future.
'Wishes For My Son, Born On St Cecilia's Day, 1912'
Thomas MacDonagh
 
Now, my son, is life for you,
And I wish you joy of it,-
Joy of power in all you do,
Deeper passion, better wit
Than I had who had enough,
Quicker life and length thereof,
More of every gift but love.

Love I have beyond all men,
Love that now you share with me-
What have I to wish you then
But that you be good and free,
And that God to you may give
Grace in stronger days to live?

For I wish you more than I
Ever knew of glorious deed,
Though no rapture passed me by
That an eager heart could heed,
Though I followed heights and sought
Things the sequel never brought.

Wild and perilous holy things
Flaming with a martyr's blood,
And the joy that laughs and sings
Where a foe must be withstood,
Joy of headlong happy chance
Leading on the battle dance.

But I found no enemy,
No man in a world of wrong,
That Christ's word of charity
Did not render clean and strong-
Who was I to judge my kind,
Blindest groper of the blind?

God to you may give the sight
And the clear, undoubting strength
Wars to knit for single right,
Freedom's war to knit at length,
And to win through wrath and strife,
To the sequel of my life.

But for you, so small and young,
Born on Saint Cecilia's Day,
I in more harmonious song
Now for nearer joys should pray-
Simpler joys: the natural growth
Of your childhood and your youth,
Courage, innocence, and truth:

These for you, so small and young,
In your hand and heart and tongue.
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​After the 1916 Rising, W. B. Yeats was shaken by the events in Dublin as the city was left in ruins.
Yeats wrote his poem 'Easter 1916' during the months after the rebellion, while he was working through his feelings about the revolutionary movement, and even as he realized that the execution of the leaders of the Easter Rising by the British had the opposite effect to the warnings intended.
The brutal killings by the British led to a revitalization of the Irish Republican movement rather than its' dissolution..  The refrain "a terrible beauty is born" is a lament throughout the poem, where Yeats expresses that "All is changed, changed utterly’, and Ireland will never be the same again.

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
​
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
 


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For centuries, England has treated Ireland with imperialist dismissal.  Today, most Brits, including myself, are completely oblivious to the pain our country inflicted over the years. That needs to change. We owe Ireland an apology. Maybe, as we commemorate the centennial of the Easter Rising we should remember the revolutionaries and continue to dream; dream of peaceful resolution to so many of our world’s conflicts.

“For England may keep faith 
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough 
To know they dreamed and are dead;”
                              - WB Yeats, Easter 1916
​
 May this Easter bring you love for your country and your fellow man.
 
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All photos were taken by me today, EASTER SUNDAY, at the Dallas Arboretum
I have chosen the colors of Green for Ireland, White for Freedom, and Red for Blood spilled. 
This comes with my wish that peaceful solutions may always pave the way for social change.. 
​ Womensvoice1.
​
references:
http://www.irishtimes.com/
http://www.independent.ie/irish-news/1916
https://en.wikipedia.org

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Good Communication sings when all our inter-disciplines work as one in synergy, combining healing energy. #Womensvoice1

3/13/2016

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Communication


Having been immersed in my own family crisis for the last three or four weeks, I am focusing this chapter of my blog on the importance of purposeful communication. I apologize for my tardiness in posting my biweekly blog.
My elderly Mother has been grievously I'll, and thankfully, is making a determined recovery. She has been hospitalized in Derriford hospital, a relatively small facility in Plymouth that is serving a community too large to cope with efficiently, given the financial restrictions it is under. 
Thanks to Jeremy Hunt, the minister of health for the UK, the health care cuts have carved care to a dangerous minimum, and stretched hospital staff and facilities to the bare bones. 
Prenatal care has suffered, and even high risk mothers are being sent home within four hours of giving birth, with no postpartum midwife visits. My niece was one of those Mothers, so I speak from experience.
Staff are stressed and without good leadership, and the subsequent chaos is both inefficient and reflects badly on care and communication. Indeed often the left hand does not know what the right hand is doing.  
Besides being very grateful for what care my Mother did receive, and being careful to acknowledge the physicians, and staff that did invest in her personalized care, overall there was a sad and obvious lack of purposeful communication, or a willingness to take responsibility for that imperative aspect of her care.. 
On one of those occasions, my Mother was whisked off for a risky and potentially fatal procedure a day early, without the family being notified. My father arrived to visit an empty space where her bed had been, only to think the absolute worst. We had been told they would " fit her in " either on a Thursday or a Friday, but she disappeared on a Wednesday, without any apparent warning to the ward staff either. Their excuse was that they "didn't know in advance, " but no one had thought to telephone the next of kin.
 As a nurse myself, I am in a position to say that administration and nursing leadership seems to be at fault. Essentially it is they who are responsible for good care and communication, together with the multidisciplinary team. Doctors do not run hospitals, Administration  and Nursing do. They need to work together to form a cohesive chain of communication and action.


The family is an extension of the patient, and caring for them, is part of carving a safe passage for the patient through the often precarious and stressful journey to their recovery. The "positive patient experience" depends on many facets of care, and communication ranks as one of the highest in that hierarchy. Taking responsibility to impart essential information in a timely fashion,is an important key to good leadership and happy customers. 
People understand that they have to wait, if staff are busy, and  a simple, "I will be with you in a minute"  or " may I help you? " , goes a long way. Making sure that auxiliaries know that they must not yank a patient by their left arm, because they have a new pacemaker, is an example of vitally important communication. It doesn't take two minutes to let a family member know that their loved one is going a day early for a vital procedure. 
I must interject that the doctors taking care of my Mother at Derriford  got full marks for their unhurried and very gracious attitude to her and our family, and were a fine example of how communication should be. They took the time to call me in America when my Mother's condition became dire, and once pinned down, gave precise explanations and informed choices. But the process of finding out who those physicians were in the first place, when they would round, and persuading the charge nurses to arrange an audience between family and physician was arduous and unnecessarily stressful. The process of getting any information was a nightmare.. Given the laws of confidentiality, one has to respect patient privacy; but with elderly parents who need an advocate, the process is archaic.Even after involving the patient liaison representative to help facilitate a smoother communication process, they told us that ultimately they are powerless to influence immediate change.


In stark contrast, our experience in Liskeard community hospital, ( which admittedly is not as busy, and is not an acute hospital), has been quite different. The telephone is answered politely, visitors are greeted with a smile, and family are treated with respect and dignity without being made to feel they are a nuisance. Even when the staff is busy, they always look at you, smile, and make arrangements to " be with you in a minute", answer questions to the best of their ability, and answer patient call lights promptly.
Our outpatient visit to Derriford cardiac department for a pacemaker check was wonderful. From the secretary who greeted us, to the cardiac nurses , they treated the patient and the family with respect, consideration, and answered all questions with answers geared to our level of understanding. 
So I am being careful to not tar all Derriford departments with the same brush.


In short, good  communication costs nothing. With good communication, people know what to expect, and are willing to forgive the odd mishap, or tardiness. 
Attitude and communication are closely linked. If family is considered a nuisance, then often good communication is avoided. A good attitude speaks wonders for a busy facility, and it costs nothing.
All health care workers should be put in the shoes of a patient. If they were able to experience what it is like having a family member in the hospital, or be a patient themselves, it would give them a completely different perspective.
This concept was explored in a very good film, released in 1991... Called The Doctor,.... Starring William Hurt
It explores the patient experience from the once arrogant and godlike doctor, turned vulnerable patient. It is worth watching.
Being on the other side of health care, as family of the patient, has given me a new respect for the American hospital system that I have worked in for the last  33 years. There are big differences between the American healthcare system and the National health, mainly that one is dependent on many different health insurance companies to finance care, and the other is dependent on a government imposed tax called national insurance. 
I am not presuming to argue the prose and cons of a national health system here. I am simply observing that the British system has not really evolved from the perspective of customer satisfaction, rather than that of necessity and a basic right to health care.  In the States, the culture of caregiving has evolved more around customer satisfaction and expectation. In America, people have learned to expect and demand more for their money. As a result, the American system is far more customer oriented, and a huge part of healthcare delivery is focused on communication. 
All hospital employees are expected to introduce themselves to patients and families and explain what their role is in the patient's care. The delivery of "best care " practices require a high emphasis on communication. Part of the reimbursement from Medicare, and private insurance companies is dependent on patient satisfaction scores. 


In England I know there is a move towards better care, communication, and customer service, and there are pamphlets and posters paying lip service to "how are we doing?" scattered around the hospitals . The patient advisory liaison service , (PALS) , is set up to act as an ambassador for patients and their families, and there are websites and surveys dedicated to improving the delivery of care. All in the face of devastating financial cuts.
Neither system is perfect, but in my personal experience, good communication has become an integral, compulsory and measured part of the standard of care in America, and the system has devoted large sums of money to make that aspect successful.
I will now get off my soap box, and give you some examples of poems with a message surrounding communication.
Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote one of the most famous poems describing the blundered Charge of the Light Brigade of 1854, led by Lord Cardigan against Russian forces during the Battle of Balaclava in the Crimean War. 
Lord Raglan,  had intended to send the Light Brigade to pursue a retreating Russian artillery battery,  but due to miscommunication the Light Brigade was sent on a frontal assault against a different artillery battery, with well-prepared in defensive fire.


Although the Light Brigade reached the battery, it was under direct fire, and the badly injured brigade was forced to retreat immediately. The assault ended with very high British casualties and no decisive gains. (Wikipedia)


Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.




"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
    Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.




Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
    Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
    Rode the six hundred.




Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
    All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
    Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
    Not the six hundred.




Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
    Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
    Left of six hundred.




When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
    All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made,
Honour the Light Brigade,
    Noble six hundred.






There is an anonymous proverb, found in a number of forms, starting as early back as the 14th century: it reads;




For want of a shoe the horse was lost;
For want of a horse the battle was lost;
For the failure of battle the kingdom was lost--
All for the want of a horse-shoe nail.


The proverb, apart from the transparent meaning,  illustrates the chain of causation and possible catastrophic consequences.
Lack of money and the cutting of essential medical services, flies in the face of evidence based practices, and will lead to catastrophic consequences.
Already the infant mortality rate is rising in Britain to statistics not seen since before the Second World War.


The Magnet Recognition Program is a recognition program operated by the American Nurses Credentialing Center that allows nurses to recognize nursing excellence in other nurses. It is considered the highest recognition for nursing excellence.
I wrote this poem to illustrate the importance of communication throughout the path of a patient's hospitalization, recognizing the role the interdisciplinary team plays in their synergistic efforts.
My reference to HAPU's refers to Hospital Acquired Pressure Ulcers and our efforts to prevent them. 




I've been a nurse for forty years 
Seen many joys and many tears
We tend the sick and calm the fears
We dress the wounds and share in prayers
Compassion is a common goal
Respect for mind and body 'n soul
Basic nursing has not changed
Yet new poles have subtley rearranged
Magnetic forces are apparent
Professional Nursing grows transparent
Autonomy of nursing skills
Accountability now fills
the role of practice , PPM
Professional Practice Model 
and then
Our synergistic path to guide
the patient, standing side by side
Promoting passage safely through
that sometimes hazardous avenue
that journey no one chooses to
Our practice, based on evidence
defines and measures precedence
of HAPUs, stages, why and where for
How to treat and how to care for
To everything there is a season
Turn turn turn , there is a reason
Hapu rates are monitored
Vital signs thermometered
Safe passage is our common pledge
Good nurses always have the edge
We listen, watch, observe, report
We administer support
Respect for cultural diversity
Facing ethical adversity
Good Communication sings
when all our inter-disciplines
work as one in synergy 
Combining healing energy
Delivering the patient home
(and to check on them by phone)
With follow up appointments made
we can call the circle laid.
That circle of great care we take
That Magnet force our nurses make
for our patient's safety sake 
We take pride in what we do 
So Kudos now to You and You!
I rest my case
and salute me too !




Lastly, I would like to give you a little light relief, concerning communicating and asserting needs. 
No matter how small those needs may seem to others, someone else's needs are very important to them. Listening carefully and fulfilling those needs doesn't always  take a lot of effort, but can bring about great satisfaction. It's the little things in life that can make all the difference, especially when they are in a vulnerable position. 
This poem is from a collection of poems by AA Milne, called "When we were very young " 


  
The King's Breakfast 
Alan Alexander Milne 1882-1956


The King's Breakfast
The King asked
The Queen, and
The Queen asked
The Dairymaid:
"Could we have some butter for
The Royal slice of bread?"
The Queen asked the Dairymaid,
The Dairymaid
Said, "Certainly,
I'll go and tell the cow
Now
Before she goes to bed."


The Dairymaid
She curtsied,
And went and told
The Alderney:
"Don't forget the butter for
The Royal slice of bread."
The Alderney
Said sleepily:
"You'd better tell
His Majesty
That many people nowadays
Like marmalade
Instead."


The Dairymaid
Said, "Fancy!"
And went to
Her Majesty.
She curtsied to the Queen, and
She turned a little red:
"Excuse me,
Your Majesty,
For taking of
The liberty,
But marmalade is tasty, if
It's very
Thickly
Spread."
     The Queen said
"Oh!:
And went to
His Majesty:
"Talking of the butter for
The royal slice of bread,
Many people
Think that
Marmalade
Is nicer.
Would you like to try a little
Marmalade
Instead?"


The King said,
"Bother!"
And then he said,
"Oh, deary me!"
The King sobbed, "Oh, deary me!"
And went back to bed.
"Nobody,"
He whimpered,
"Could call me
A fussy man;
I only want
A little bit
Of butter for
My bread!"


The Queen said,
"There, there!"
And went to
The Dairymaid.
The Dairymaid
Said, "There, there!"
And went to the shed.
The cow said,
"There, there!
I didn't really
Mean it;
Here's milk for his porringer,
And butter for his bread."


The Queen took
The butter
And brought it to
His Majesty;
The King said,
"Butter, eh?"
And bounced out of bed.
"Nobody," he said,
As he kissed her
Tenderly,​
"Nobody," he said,
As he slid down the banisters,
"Nobody,
My darling,
Could call me
A fussy man -
BUT
I do like a little bit of butter to my bread!"


I am happy to report that my Mother is slowly getting better, and is being well cared for in Liskeard community hospital. We hope that she will be discharged in the next week or two. She is looking forward to coming home to my father, and enjoying the little things in life, like home cooking and the view from the window over St John's lake.
Above all, she is looking forward to just sitting with my Father, and being in each other's company. They don't have to speak, their communication has matured and evolved over the 70 years they have been together.


“You can talk with someone for years, everyday, and still, it won't mean as much as what you can have when you sit in front of someone, not saying a word, yet you feel that person with your heart, you feel like you have known the person for forever.... connections are made with the heart, not the tongue.” 
― C. JoyBell C.




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    Susan Golden

    Born, raised and educated in Cornwall, England., Sue moved to America in 1981.
    After many years of life experience, her first bookof poetry for social change, is published. Available on iBooks.
     https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-moon-of-compassion/id892598396?mt=11

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