Wolf Pack

by Brant Parker III

Poem


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by Brant Parker III

Prose


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by Michael Pride Young

Songs Lyrics


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by kimberly green

Array


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by Daniel Strange

Photograph


Suicidal

by Diane Wasden

Poem


WILLOW WAS HER NAME

By Neal Lesh, Army

Writing Type: Poem

Under tall oak trees, the summer breeze, blows gently through her hair.
With her quiet sighs, and soft blue eyes, I couldn’t help but stare.

She noticed me, and I could see, her face all flushed with shame.
It was very clear, I fell in love right here, and “Willow” was her name.

Through a summer rain, we walked the lane, not far from where we met.
We knew for sure, our love was pure, as pure as love can get.

The autumn wind, caused trees to bend, as it swept down where we stood.
She caught a chill and soon took ill.
The outlook wasn’t good.

The winter’s snow, began to blow, and shadows filled the day.
A love so strong though not for long -- in spring she passed away.

One shouldn’t cry for sad good-byes, be happy just the same.
‘Cause I can’t forget the one I met, and “Willow” was her name.

Under tall oak trees, a summer breeze, blows gently through her hair.
Through mist-filled eyes, I still hear her sighs; how I wish that she were there.

Though the years progress, my one happiness would be to hold her just the same.
As I did then,
I’d do again, and “Willow” was her name.

.. And I’ll never be the same.

Notes: Mary Ellen Zemanek

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by Gene Groner

Photograph


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by Brant Parker III

Prose


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by Diane Wasden

Poem


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by Daniel Strange

Drawing


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by Daniel Paicopulos

Poem,Prose


Trump Was Acquitted

by Scott Sjostrand

Poem