By the star when it descends,
. . . .
The sight [of the Prophet] did not swerve, nor did it transgress [its limit].
That wasn't serendipity. That's destiny. My mother wasn't there anymore. It's stark, pitch-dark. Colossal, abysmal despair. Then, I found her: My Lightning Bug. -- For my Print and E-books: Go here, please: http://pothi.com/pothi/