I’ve been putting together a manuscript of a children’s book of poetry.  This is a sample.


We are the battered walls of stone

still standing though the years have flown.

We have stood in peace,

we have stood attacked,

straight or crooked, strong or cracked.

Up our faces the shadows crawl –

they will reappear elsewhere once we fall.

We are mantled with memories and creeping vines.

We’re old, you know – we’ve seen the signs

while standing here as years have flown,

while standing watch though made of stone.

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