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  Barbara E. Walton

Published on: 4/30/2010
Ella of the Ashes

She sits among the cinders, gaunt and grim,
A ghost of ash, a dust of burning frost.
And in her heart a melancholy hymn
To mark the precious world that she has lost

For something stood here once upon a time--
Her heart can sense its long-forgotten shape--
And when the midnight bells begin to chime
It touches her and whispers of escape.

In dreams she walks the halls that are her own
A vanished world, and she, its kindly queen;
But morning shows the shattered, empty throne
And daylight passes high above, unseen.

At night, she makes her unheard moonlit plea,
Then sleeps upon her ashen legacy.

Published on: 12/10/2009
Google-Driving in Northern Scotland

I Google-drove from Aberdeen
Toward Blackdog, Newburgh, Cruden Bay,
Through green fields on a cloudy day.
I toured and skipped around the scene--
The world through my computer screen.
I passed a Buchan bus--bright red--
And it in freeze-frame motion fled.
Alone at home, in pixel thrall,
I drove beside a low stone wall
And followed roads to where they led.

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