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Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves in labyrinths of coral caves
An echo of a distant time comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine.

And no one called us to the land
And no one knows the where's or why's
Something stirs and something tries
Starts to climb toward the light.


Sunday, May 6, 2012

Story Bone

That was the day that birthed a thousand orphans.

A thousand orphans were born that day.

In the shadows of the saucers a thousand orphans were born.

The day the saucers came, orphans were born by the thousands.

The scream of saucers masked the birth cry of a thousand orphans.

Take your pick, or any alternative.

2 comments:

Elizabeth said...

I thought that was going to be a poem at first, and then it started looking like one of those responsive psalms in church.

Steve Buchheit said...

I guess they could be read that day. I just wrote down the first line, and then my brain rewrote it. And then rewrote that one, wash, rinse, repeat.