bl148

a lone saucer sits in the open. clean. unblemished. empty. it waits, hungerly, for the minds of fate to chance. waiting for the clouds to gather. to be inspired. heavy, pregnant. without warning, it comes. the sky opens up, split open by thunder and lightning. first, tentative drops fall. the first drop lands in the saucer. eager, encouraged, it longs for more drops grow, grow, grow into a torrent. catching all the rain that falls, by chance, its way. it spills over. gradually it eases, and stops. sol now dares to peak between the exhausted clouds. it is time. c'mon! pick up the now full saucer. be careful! we must

One blust'ry mid-autumn afternoon, Warm auburn sunbeams bright'ning my face, I espied a lethargic snail, a gentle soul. No thought of mal-doing could ever pass Through his poo-brown head. (Such cute squishy-feelie-thingies) He was squirming across the mottled road, On which wilder, scarier creatures roamed. Slow and patient, careful and diligent, With Herculean effort he tried to cross it, Perhaps to pastures greener, less brown. (Tiny body, giant dreams) So I, wide-eyed, red-cheeked with excitement, Decided to help him in his Odyssey. Extending a hand I carried him to a better place. All the way my child-like heart ba-bup'd

Masons, craftsmen and artisans too, Deftly lay brick, stone, veneer, Penning hammer, chisel and file to Lovingly restore These hallowed halls, Citadels of learning and Bastions of culture, Revered for their age and wisdom. Ranks of luminaries, revolutionaries Bred, incubated and hatched 'neath the Hoary arches that creak, Sigh with each passing season. Now in the age when On eloquence we trampled, Wit scorned and Reason as chaff to wind, We resurrect our stone-faced masters' Former glory, while the new sun Burns, the harbinger of change. But in vain. Because it was never the Towers, arches and spires That whence the Wis