Sometimes I ponder and I wonder why
A woman who's blessed tears up to cry
And then I remember her eyes so gentle
Feeling so deeply she loves not a little

Her life is a beautiful poem
Her heart is intricately woven
Her God-given life a sacrifice of love;
Her soul made of beauty given from above

Remember her tear; needed; 'tis true
It's a privilege if shared with you
Her sorrows are all yours now, as are her joys
Her heart is in your hands, your love it employs

These boots were made for walkin', walkin' down life's roads;
But this hand was made for holdin' though whose hand I don't know.
I guess for now I'm waitin' here for you, my knight in the cowboy boots.
Though when he'll come I don't know, and if he'll come, I don't know, but 'til then, or when, I'll be waitin' here for my knight in the cowboy boots.
So whoever you are, wherever you are, know that I'll be true, 'cause God made you for me, and He made me for you.

 Hello, everyone! I'm back, with a short story set in my fantasy world, in the country of Relastin. I hope ya'll like it, but please feel free to criticize it (constructively, of course!). And forgive the bad poetry, as I'm not much of a poet, but felt as though I had to include those verses in it. Oh, and Amira is pronounced (Uh-my-ruh).

AMIRA

I stood quietly by the bedside, now and then dipping a cloth in a basin of water and placing it on Orren's forehead. He tossed feverishly and muttered something which sounded like,

The old man sitting in front of the mountain chalet leaned back and watched an eagle soaring lazily above the mountain peak. He closed his eyes and listened for a moment to the wind hissing softly through the trees. He folded his rough hands across his broad chest and leaned back against the rough sides of the house. He was deep in thought when a light touch on his shoulder brought his to his feet. A slight woman with graying hair leaned over him, a soft smile on her weathered face. He smiled back and she seated herself at his side.