tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20739118410076112152024-03-13T20:39:23.763-07:00Serendipity Writing ContestPlease read below the first and second place winners of the third annual Serendipity Writing Contest. Special recognition is given to all the many entries. These entries exemplified talent and hard work. Egg Rock Publishing is confident in the future.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04006532456729642300noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2073911841007611215.post-41150176024152767552016-02-08T13:00:00.000-08:002017-02-24T06:18:37.269-08:002016 Their First and Last Dance by Yelexi Pena <div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><span style="color: purple; font-size: x-large;"> </span></u><span style="font-size: medium;"><strong><u><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">2016</span></u></strong> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">First Place in Prose wins $300</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And so they danced, with nothing but
the sound of their hearts and the crunching grass beneath their feet to guide
them. The two moved as one, time around them fading into non-existence. The
moons shining down upon them with their melancholy glow. Hair as black as ink,
the ravenette leaned heavily against his partner as his body grew weaker and
weaker with each step. Blood as black as his hair soaked through his shirt, but
still they danced on. Hair as white as fresh snow, the dark elf held his best
friend, his only friend, close to hold the other up in an increasingly failing
attempt at finishing their dance.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Back and forth they moved, their feet
turning in synch, their bodies moving in circles around the forest clearing
when finally, with his blood loss too great, the ravenette stumbled sideways
and his friend moved with him to slow his descent to the ground. It was when he
was set down, the upper half of his body caged protectively in his best
friends’ arms, that a weak laugh made its way passed his lips. The dark elf
gave him a look filled with agonizing despair and utter disbelief. “How in all
the worlds do you find anything about this situation laughable?” he asked,
voice breaking half way through. He stared down into his friends duel colored
eyes searching for something, though he wasn’t entirely sure as to what. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The snow haired elf wanted to scream at
the sky and moons, he wanted to scream out his rage and frustrations because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this wasn’t fair</i>. He wanted to cry,
wanted to cry out all the pain until he was nothing but numb and then cry even
harder, but all he could do was uselessly hold on to his friends dying body as
he bled out from his stomach because he knew that they were too far from anyone
who could help, too far from anyone who could fix this. His friend just laughed
again before answering, “All our lives people kept telling us that we were
gonna be the death of each other. I’d just never thought that they would be
right in such a literal way.” His tone was joking and voice raspy, but the elf
couldn’t stop himself from flinching back as if the words had been accusing and
screamed at him. Immediately his shirt collar was being grabbed and he was
pulled down so the ravenette could glare at him effectively, “Don’t you do
that. Keyzin don’t you dare blame yourself for this. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">don’t.</i>” Keyzin could do nothing but bite his lip, his voice failing
him. Instead he took hold of the hand grasping his collar and held it as if it
were his own life line. It might as well have been.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tears burned at the elves lightning
blue eyes and his breath kept getting caught in his throat but he managed to
hold back. If his best friend was dying with that stupid self-assured grin of
his then Keyzin had no right to cry. Not now, no matter how much he wanted to.
He had to at least pretend to be brave about this. He’d give himself the luxury
of crying later, alone, and as loud as he possibly could. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Minutes passed silently between them as
the moons slowly passed overhead, lighting the clearing in a soft glow. The
ravenette broke the silence. “Hey, Key. I… need you to promise me something. A
few somethings, actually,” he grunted out, shifting his position. Keyzin just
nodded silently, not trusting the strength of his voice. “Right now, you have
to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">swear </i>to me. Swear to me that
after I pass over the next time I see your face is when you pass as an old and
wrinkled man.” Keyzin closed his eyes shaking his head pathetically, and
whimpered out a broken voiced response, “You can’t ask me that, Nal. Without
you everything’s just gonna get harder and I’m not strong enough to handle it
on my own, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m not. </i>Without you I
wouldn’t be here now; Nal don’t make me promise.” But Nal just smiled weakly
and Keyzin knew he’d lost the argument before it begun. Tears burning hotter in
his eyes and vision swimming he choked out the words, “I swear”. He didn’t know
how he was going to be able to keep moving forward in his life without his best
friend by his side, but he had to find a way somehow. His word was his own law.
</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nal’s smile changed. His eyes glittered
with unshed tears and his breathing caught in his throat. He couldn’t keep this
up. He brought their laced hands over his face in an attempt to hide before
giving his final request, his voice filled with fear. “Just stay with me,
please? I don’t wanna be alone and it hurts and I’m so s-scared and dammit all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m not ready to die.</i>” And they broke.
Keyzin couldn’t hold his tears back any longer and they fell as he pulled his
best friend closer, crying silently. Clutching Keyzin’s hand painfully, Nals
own tears slid down his face heavy sobs painfully ripped their way passed his
throat.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They stayed like that; time around them
moving forward once again and soon Nal’s sobs died down into silence. His body
limp and breathing nonexistent but Keyzin refused to open his eyes, refused to
accept this reality. He thought, maybe, if he wished hard enough, if he didn’t
accept it, then it wouldn’t be real. But Nal’s body began to grow cold in his
arms and the moons began to set, only to be replaced by the dawning sun. It was
when the suns first rays of light touched his dark skin that he opened his eyes
and was forced to look down at his best friends’ corpse. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Gripping Nal’s body impossibly tighter
he lay his head on his still chest, gasping for breath as his world sank into silence.
And then, finally, he screamed.</span></div>
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<br />Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04006532456729642300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2073911841007611215.post-77528435088257050202016-02-08T12:00:00.000-08:002017-02-24T06:18:16.200-08:002016 “Abebe, it is Time to Go” by Celeste Camire<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">2016</span> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Second Place in Prose wins $50</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><span style="font-size: small;"></span><span style="color: red;"></span></span> </div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;"> Abebe washed thoroughly before he acted
on Dr. Abraham’s call to meet him in the office. Concentrating on this task, he
made sure not to miss one millimeter of surface on his small hands. Surprisingly
strong and well-defined, the minor muscles were taut and veins bulged over his
smooth brown skin. Abebe’s hands were evidence of the years of hard work his
young life endured, carrying water three miles to and from the well to his home.
These days, Abebe’s home was not away from the village, but was the small
clinic in Lagos where he also worked, tending to the sick and dying, gleaning
knowledge and skill from the nurses and Dr. Abraham. Thoughts of his family
came to him as he looked at the deep lines that creased and grooved the flesh
of his palms. Lifelines. Memories that soothed as an invisible analgesic, steadied
him in his task. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">In
his fifteen years, Abebe had been a diligent, dutiful son. He respected his
mother who vitally placed him at the head of their family. He followed her rule
and cared for his siblings to ensure their safety. He took over field work for
his errant, drunken father who was the first to succumb to the virus. He thought of his family and their flimsy
home, dirt floor, open windows which were a blessing and a bane. Wonderful open
sweetness when soft breezes blew, but terrible gaping maws when the air was
stifling and insects invaded the crowded space, or the summer rains drove water
like a funnel, a river, though their hut, across the floor and through the open
door. Then greater tragedy struck, and they crept from their village to the
city of Lagos for help.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">Altogether
stricken by Ebola, and very ill, unlike the rest of his family Abebe survived,
he was now immune. At the clinic, he had reaped the benefits of care and at
great cost. He knew, because he was told, of the weeks that nurses helped him
cling to life while his mother, brothers and sisters perished. Perhaps he
should not have brought them all here, to this forsaken hospital where the
virus seemed to grow and multiply, killing dozens daily. He felt complicit in
their deaths. Abebe knew that he was now healthy, and it was likely time for
him to go. But this place now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i>
home. He wanted to belong, but perhaps they didn’t think the same. Maybe he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> in the way. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">Dr.
Abraham waited in his office that was not really an office. It was more of a
necessary afterthought compilation of space, set off from the hospital kitchen and
separated from the storeroom by a clothesline draped with faded blankets and towels
donated by the W.H.O. He was not only an M.D., but a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">great</i> man to be respected, mayor-like; a Justice of the Peace, and
his court smelled of moldy bread and cheese. However, smells were not the issue
at hand: the pervasive, overpowering war against Ebola was truly more the
stench of blood, unrequited hope and death. The odor of Government cheese
became microscopic. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">Abebe
entered the space quietly, with his hands held up in front of him, fingers
curled and palms toward his chest, as if entering a surgery. Dr. Abraham
customarily, begged him to be seated, “It’s time we have a talk,” said Dr.
Abraham quietly while he looked solemnly at Abebe. Abebe was confused by Dr. Abraham’s unusual tone.
He carefully reviewed the events of the day and could find no fault within
himself. He wondered, did the nurses have a complaint? In the days following
his illness, Abebe strove to meet every need and unspoken directive. He taught
himself to anticipate the next task or possibly, the next diagnosis. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">The
nurses treated him as a steward whose job was to fetch and carry. How could he
know the nurses’ motives intended to strengthen him? After each accomplished
assignment, he was regarded solemnly and then set with another. He never
failed, nor did he receive praise or reward. He worked daily under their
watchful eyes and the guidance of Dr. Abraham: given their tutelage, he existed
and thrived. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">Dr.
Abraham watched as Abebe wrestled with his thoughts. Stoically, he observed
their surroundings and wondered to himself, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What
is here for the boy?” </i>Dr. Abraham searched for paperwork on his table,
usually arranged neatly, but today was a difficult day. He noticed the pattern
of the blanket, a swirl of white blobs that represented peace, repeated on a
solid sky blue background, and curling, red-colored two-legged images against vibrant
orange that symbolized energy. He recognized the symbolism also, of Abebe’s own
name: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blossomed; grown</i>. He held his
anxiety within and began softly, “Abebe, we must talk about your future.”</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">“Dr.
Abraham, what have I done wrong?”</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">Dr.
Abraham smiled in quiet amazement at this young man’s humility. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">“Actually,
Abebe, it is what you have done right. You have learned much here, but there is
more in the world for you. I cannot provide it here and you must go. It is time
for you to move on. By this I mean, that your future path is surely mapped out
as the constellations are in the skies or as these symbols on this tapestry of
towels, and your very name. You will go to school. You will be educated.”</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , sans-serif;">“You
will become a doctor yourself, and return here if you desire. To this end, I will finance your education. Simply
agree, and it is yours. I am regretful
to let you go, and hopeful that you will. My wish is that you will return. Are
you ready?”</span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04006532456729642300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2073911841007611215.post-8704759488921139842016-02-08T10:00:00.000-08:002017-02-24T06:20:26.364-08:002016 The Bookshelf by Zoe Skowronski<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">2016</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><strong>First Place Winner in Poetry wins $300</strong></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">My love for you is
jaundiced like the pages of a book untouched, and I could pry apart the pages,
but I no longer crave the pain that follows.</span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you were here, I might
be happy, yet not nearly as accomplished, because my sadness is the most
beautiful artist.</span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Happiness inspires a
laziness, which I am not yet sure I want.</span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">For now, I keep you on
the bookshelf.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I wonder if you are
happy residing on that bookshelf, if another has read you, and if they better
resonate with your story.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">You were my favorite
novel; perhaps someone else now makes that claim.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">But we are not meant to
read just one work in our lifetimes, even though we each acquire a partialness
to a certain one.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">I loved your sentences
like I needed air, but I cannot love what is no longer here.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">I resent you for your
choice to end the story, even if it was hard for you, it was harder for me, as
it was not my doing.</span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Still, I keep you on the
bookshelf.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">As I read more, I find
that there is a surprising variation of words that I have never encountered
before, and I like some of them almost as much as yours.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, new words do not
replace the old ones as I had anticipated; they only gain their own spots on
the shelf.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have become a library
of failed relationships.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">The bookshelf overflows.</span></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04006532456729642300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2073911841007611215.post-79251573407077188282016-02-08T09:00:00.000-08:002017-02-24T06:21:53.693-08:002016 On Stories by Matthew Newbold<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">2106</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"></span> </div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><strong>Second Place winner in Poetry Wins $50</strong></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"></span></span> </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">"This story is
true" says the Teller of Tales</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">"A truth against
which reality pales</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Of king and queens and
mystic rings</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Of starships and blasters
and impossible things</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Where heroes always win</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Against evil and against
sin</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Where love never dies</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">And where almost no one
lies</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Some will scoff at what I
say</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Too tired to do anything
but wallow in a world that's a touch too wicked, a touch too grey</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But I see you hold these
words in your heart-as you do!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">For to believe such a
tale is to strive to make it true."</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike><span style="color: red;"></span></strike><br />Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04006532456729642300noreply@blogger.com0