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 Such a small thing to waste one’s thoughts on, but still, sometimes one cannot help letting one’s mind wander over the possibilities.  It’s just a tarnished bit of metal, scuffed and scratched, but still recognizable. Nineteen Seventy; how many pockets has it been in? How many cash registers? How many streets has it been dropped on? Who’s looked at it the same way I have? Did someone that year hold it up to the light, brand new and shiny, and admire the copper finish? It’s been here for forty six years. It’s witnessed more than I will for at least another decade. Riots, movements, rises and falls, it’

The rooster crows on every hour To warn the peasants, who shrink and cower From the black, forsaken tower Where lives a wizard of malignant power Who wanders forth and raises hell With many a curse, a hex, a spell And villagers wait where they do dwell Until they hear the morning bell At which point the said wizard falls Unconscious due to many brawls And pints of ale, his progress stalled By stumbling footsteps and careless calls The townsmen gather from their rooms While the bell clangs and booms Over hill and over dale Ending the destructive trail

"It's hopeless, you know" "Not completely, remember there were only two shots fired. One of them could have gotten away." "From Them? Not likely" "You're right, but it's still a possibility" "What happens if they're all caught?" "Then we'll have to break them out, naturally" "From THAT prison? Are you crazy?" "The jury's still out on that" "Ha ha, you know you really should take this more seriously." "And give up like you? I think not" "How in the seven hells are we supposed to get them out?" "I think if we took out the turrets and guard towers I could land her in the middle of the compound. Then it would be child's play to get everyo

Bumblebees and knocking knees The light turns on, the hedgehogs freeze Their king decrees they shall not sneeze Upon the lightly wafting breeze