Welcome to the Gryphon's Nest!

		Sandpipers


		Sandpipers weave between waves
		   hunt tidal pools
		   looking

		The sussurus of surf
		   swelling
		   in and out
		reels them in
		chases them away with meeps
		only to return again

		Dunegrass scratches counterpoint
		to the staccato clack of wires on masts
		While gulls dive scavenging scraps
		sandpipers sprint another lap
		looking for something in the sand
					 the sea
					 the sounds





		The Wall


 		I hold you in my hand
 		  heavy for five pounds
 		  weighty with history
 		Are you why we warred 40 furious winters

 		You sit on a pile of old newspaper clippings
 		and junk mail I haven't thrown away yet
 		Just another brick
 		  broken in half
 		  brown Berlin stone
 		  bits of grey mortar on one side

 		How many hands have clutched at you
 		in the days of the Broken City
 		  clawed upon you and climbed
 		  scrambling for freedom
 		  your denial bought with blood

 		  Tomorrow I'll take you to the sea
 		  and bury your memories
 		  below salt-washed sand


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Allan T. Grohe, Jr.			Nomad of the Time Streams #159
iscladoc@falcon.cc.ukans.edu		Keeper of _The Dead Gods Book_
iscladoc@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu

	"Farewell, friend.  I was a thousand times more evil than thou."
		- Michael Moorcock, _Stormbringer_
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**This work is copyrighted by Allan T. Grohe, Jr. (iscladoc@falcon.cc.ukans.edu).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**

Wednesday's Child


She sees her world through misty tears;
She sobs at night when no one hears;
Her young life filled with dreadful fears
And she is old beyond her years.

She listens for the creaking stair
And offers up a silent prayer,
But she cannot escape from there
And sleep is just one more nightmare.

With somber eyes, so dark and grey,
She watches other children play.
If they come near, she runs away;
She is afraid of what they'll say.

Her face is smudged with dirty streaks;
Her shoes are small and hurt her feet.
They call her dumb...she never speaks;
They say she's stupid and a "freak."

At home alone, she hugs her bear;
His fur is dusty and threadbare.
She comforts him with loving care
And tells him he should not be scared.

She holds tight to his shabby paw
And sits cross-legged upon the floor;
She watches through the open door
And cries with eyes red-rimmed and sore.

She pulls her knees up to her chin;
Her arms are bruised and painfully thin.
The light outside grows pale and dim
As she waits for it to begin.

She crouches in a corner...low,
For she has nowhere else to go.
Her tiny frame rocks to and fro
And whimpers softly with each blow.

As peacefully at last she sleeps,
The ragged bear, his vigil keeps.
A tear, it seems rolls down his cheek,
But Wednesday's Child no more will weep.


***Novareinna***
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**This work is copyrighted by Novareinna (novareinna@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**

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Letter to the Editor:

Cherie Staples <SkyEarth1@aol.com>