Poetry - Dancer - Once Upon A Typewriter - Death of a Field Mouse - Wind Song

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Poetry
(by Sandra Pancoast)

Poetry is a picture, a piece of art,
an expression composed of words,
a golden chariot, or a peddler’s cart.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Dancer
(by Sandra Pancoast)

D rifting across the moonlit stage
A nd almost caressing the music
N ever wandering from the effortless enchantment
C reated by the inspiration of dreams set free
E ffortlessly gliding out of the starkness of
R eality and into a graceful world of dreams
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Once Upon A Typewriter
(by Sandra Pancoast)

Click, click, click, click, clickety-click,
faster, faster, must click quick,
click, click, click, click, clickety-click-ding!
Five spaces left after you hear the bell ring,
five spaces gone, look out, and beep!
Now to the next line as your fingers continue to leap,
stripes of lettering multiply on the page,
looking like the sideways bars of a cage,
what’s behind them? where do they lead?
Don’t ask me, I’m typing to fast to stop and read!
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Death of a Field Mouse
(by Sandra Pancoast)

The moonlight fell softly on the water,
the silver stars hung overhead,
the wind blew through the willows,
as the tiny queen lay dead.

The morning sun was rising,
yet the small queen was still,
the wind blew over the water,
and over the dew covered hill.

The mice in lines of sorrow,
cried over their dead queen,
and in their troubled hearts,
asked how death could be so mean!

In tearful lines of black,
they cried over their dead queen,
yet she lay there still,
quiet, calm, serene,

and the dew fell softly on her cheeks,
as if she had been crying,
and the heartbroken songbirds
sang out against sorrow, death, and dying,

but then took comfort in the thought,
that death could not forever hold,
the intangible treasures of life,
the ones worth more than gold.

-------------
(Below is the seventh verse, officially omitted from the current version,
but included in the origional published in the annual high school magazine.)
-------------

How beautiful the thought: Death is not the end,
though we keep only our thoughts and memories,
the true treasures of life,
impressions, feelings, the way one sees,
and leave behind all tangible rewards.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Wind Song
(by Sandra Pancoast)

They say that the dew on the meadow
is really the tears that angels cry,
and the wind that whispers on the water,
and roams through the open sky,
sings this song:

Joy is to love
as sorrow is to war,
Hope is to heaven
as wish is to star,

Love is the heart’s pearl,
Rainbows are the sky’s song,
life’s best illusions
only last for so long,

but I am the wind,
and I blow where I will,
I’m free-er than free,
and I’ll never be still,

I frolic in the forest,
and tickle the willows,
I shout with the storm,
ride with ships on the billows!

For joy is to love
as sorrow is to war,
Hope is to heaven
as wish is to star!

-----------------------------------------------------------------



Close the Silvered Scroll The Runes of Silver