Glossa to Emily Dickinson's "It's all I have to bring today."
Publishing a poem for the very first time in this blog. I thought of an unbearable cold, an inevitable desire to escape it, and trees, alleys of blooming trees. 

After wasting time on some random internet quizzes that by no means revealed me the slightest sense of what exact talent is awaiting for me to discover it, I sat down and, started typing hoping to shed some light on my unorganized thoughts. One can say such action of putting mind back to work after browsing the internet could be observed as a talent. I say, let's keep digging. It is a question that bothered me time after time since the day I overheard my music teacher saying to my mama that while my sister had a natural inclination, talent if you will, I, contrarily had all perseverance in the world. Not at all confused or offended, I, however, started wondering where does a talent start as a natural ability, and where would it end without hard work and sacrifice. Also, another bothersome issue followed the first one: could two people, one with natural ability and another one with a burning desire and constant striving to achieve the same level of success?

And then, above all this chaos, a cacophony of relentless noises, something wonderful came and brought peace. It happened back in the past; it happens right now. Christmas descended as quietly as snow falls down. It covered all existing, filled hearts with consideration to each other, with kindness, and compassionate sacrifice. From a house to a house, a light spread, as if every neighbour in a somewhat of a pattern placed candles on the window, and turned on the lanterns in the garden. In the middle of what was called a plague, a devastating event, one day once again brought a reminder of God’s fulfilled promises, once again planted hope, and once again promised peace on Earth. 

At what exact point in life, one finds himself at the place where, while criticism matters, it, however, plays no significant role, and has not been taken close to the heart? Perhaps, it is nowhere. Perhaps, sometime at the age when one no longer remembers how exactly it felt when numerous events caused such oppressive pain.