The Weeping Willow
Why do you weep, oh weeping willow?
Why do I weep? I, the weeping willow?
I weep for the son of mankind
Who was killed on my kind.
Why do you sing, oh stone of the earth?
Why do I sing? I, the stone of the earth?
I sing for the son of the LORD
Who could not be stopped, though his blood was poured.
Why do you laugh, oh flower of the field?
Why do I laugh? I, the flower of the field?
I laugh for the Savior, who came to save.
Fire
What burns more bright
Than the light of a fire?
It casts shadows,
And lights up the sky;
It fills the darkness
With light that is merry,
And cruel,
And evil.
It fills up the cold
With danger,
And laughter,
And light.
And what burns more bright
Than the fire of the soul?
In Defense of Scrooge?
I was on the HSLDA website, and I clicked on the 'contests' link. One of the categories for 2010 was to write an essay on an article entitled 'In Defense of Scrooge' by Michael Levin, a Libertarian. Although the contest is long over, I would still like to write my own essay on this article. So, here goes.
Tace looked at Kace, then back to the leader of the horsemen with a smirk.
"They're lying," Kace got out before his captor clamped a hand over his mouth.
"If you're lying," Tace said, "then I'd rather not give up the girl because you wouldn't be taking her back to the palace."
"What business is that of yours? You have no right to the girl."
"You don't either, if you're lying about it."
"And if your friend is the one who's lying?"
"He doesn't lie."
{When Anna was visting we went to a writing class at the library. These are my stories from the prompts we did - the first is off of the same words Anna's wonderful story is from. I have another poem to post eventually that I wrote this summer, and hopefully before too long 'Mercy Victorious' (Short version).}
In a torrential wild storm
The rain came pouring down
It ruined summer’s day
Like a favorite teacher’s frown.
The wind whipped through the grass,
And blew and shook the trees,
Second Mommy
She watchs from the rocking chair,
Her eyes scanning the room,
Her face and feature unmoving.
Little tears form in the sides of her hazel eyes,
Her love eminating around the room.
She watches her chilren sweetly,
And they sleep on.
In the corner is the craddle,
Where little Pierre sleeps after crying,
His eyes screwed shut because of illness,
His peaceful breathing disrupted by the wheeze in his throat.
“Don’t do it; I beg ye to stop,” said Cathie.
He kept walking, and the fire in her grew stronger at his opposition. She ran in front of him and walked backwards at his pace, putting her hands up, but not touching him.
“Conor! Please, I beg ye. Don’t do it.”
He didn’t look at her, but focused his dark brow on the town in the distance. “Stop it, Cathie.”
“Ye can’t - ye won’t - I refuse to move.” She skidded to a halt in her tracks, and he almost ran into her.
It's rare, even unheard of, that I would make two posts so close together, but these are fairly short chapters with little cliffhangers at the end of each, so I figured I'd be nice and not make readers wait so long. That being said, I must add that I am posting these quickly because I have actually and finally written those most beloved of all three-letter words in this old story: The End.
"What is it?" Shuthral asked.
Tala and Chathel glanced at each other again before Chathel began,
"We will stand directly on each side of the door. you will stand directly in front of it and draw the creature in. We will then proceed to kill the animal."
"And if it doesn't work?" Shuthral asked pessimistically.
Tala's eyebrows went down. "We will make it work," she stated firmly.
"Face the facts, please, Tala," Chathel said gently. "It might not work."
"Well, if it doesn't, then I will see you later-somewhere else."
**SPOILER ALERT** (I advise you to read the book before you do this review. But, if you don't mind knowing vaguely what is to happen, by all means, read on!)
"☆☆☆☆" stars! (out of four)