Hektoen International

A Journal of Medical Humanities

The big little

Elizabeth Crowston
Cavalier, North Dakota, United States

Misty forest with dense fog. Photo by belyaaa on Envanto Elements. Used with permission.

In the quiet cradle of the self, where thoughts doth swell and dip,
A realm where tiny whispers in the vastness grip,
As streams that trickle, gather, and in rivers flow,
So doth the inner consciousness within us grow.

Amidst the woodland’s heart, where shadows dance and play,
Our mind’s a mirrored forest, in twilight’s soft array.
The smallest leaf, aflutter, can the tallest oak persuade,
As tiny inklings in our souls grand passions may invade.

In the depths of our being, where noisy ghosts reside,
They drift within the ether, on memory’s endless tide.
Like the ocean’s mighty power, hidden in a drop of rain,
So, a fleeting thought can bring both joy and pain.

The mountain’s peak, so lofty, and the humble moss beneath,
Illustrate the range within us, from joy to gnashing teeth.
The inner narrative, a tapestry, complexly spun,
Reflects the outer cosmos, and the stars beyond the sun.

Beneath the moon’s soft glow, in the night’s serene embrace,
Our inner world’s a landscape, a mysterious, shifting place.
With every thought a seedling, in the mind’s fertile ground,
In the silence, not in clamor, our true selves are found.

Created through iterative prompting and refining with ChatGPT 4. Prompts included word refinement, selection and voice of the poem.

ELIZABETH A. CROWSTON, Ph.D., Occupational and Adult Education (NDSU).

Spring 2024



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