Sarah Lobley Biography

A labyrinth of leather and paper and ink
Of whispers and tales but half-told
The stories that wait here, just biding their time,
May sleep, but will never grow old.
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Hope is a whisper,
A song in the dark,
The tiniest butterfly;
A gentle reminder
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The Minstrel's voice, the harp's sweet song, the joyful heart am I.
The Warrior’s pride, I may not speak, but in every child I lie.

The Mother’s tear, the Father’s prayer, the Prodigal’s welcome home.
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Alone in the dark
Too afraid to seek the light
World is cold and stark,
How much longer can I fight
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