Lighting burst across the dark sky,
Rain, slowly drizzling stole the warmth.
Mud sucked at boots and pulled on wheels,
As the wagons slowed to a halt.

A large valley, surrounded by sturdy oak,
With a river splitting it almost in two.
Near the center a small hill stood,
Perfect for their needs.

Pulling his cloak tighter around,
The man pointed and barked orders,
And soon the wagons began moving,
To the valley of their new home.

To any onlooker, they appeared poor,
Like everyone else who fled the war.
Yet, to this onlooker,
The band didn't seem quite right.

The name on the last wagon caught his mind,
Nothing special, but nothing simple,
Whatever it was, it was worth marking.
The onlooker turned and moved on.

The Al-Dar...

01/27/2003

Author's Note: The flow doesn't work for me, but I needed something written down to work from. Sooner or later I plan to write several pieces more befitting to the ideas I hope to bring from this.

Posted on 01/27/2003
Copyright © 2025 Dana E Brossard