The Stomper by Kimberly Coverly

The Stomper by Kimberly Coverly

A young girl, wandering a path well known,

Came, at dusk, pink and orange, not fully grown

To a nice patch of grass, long and slender,

Yet which was strewn with burning bright ember,

Ash, from her father’s cancerous habit.

The young girl, stomped on it like a rabitt,

The ash held no fear for her on this night

But she looked back as if looking for light,

After that one butt had been stomped as planned,

She stomped the others, not on her green land

“Young girl!” said her mother from a window,

“You’re wasting your breath by stomping below

Those ashes will go out with the night breeze,

They never again will glow, they will seize.

You’re too young to be doing such a thing

You might burn yourself, which, I’m sure, will sting.

You have stomped the bright ashes far and near,

Why stomp these extra embers now and here?”

The stomper lifted her youthful blue eyes,

Unaware they held a valuable prize.

“Dear mother, on the path I walked today,

Followed behind me a dog, old and grey.

He is true to me, even in day most grim,

For this reason, I must look after him.

Ashes which have done me no harm today,

May leave scars on his paws; lead him astray.

I would always be in debt to this pup

If these ashes burnt his tender skin up.

He earns this, since he follows in my wake,

I am stomping these coals for dear dog Jake!

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The Bridge Builder by Will Allen Dromgoole

An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening cold and gray
To a chasm vast and deep and wide
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The rapids held no fears for him.
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” cried a fellow pilgrim near,
“You’re wasting your time in building here.
Your journey will end with the closing day;
You never again will pass this way.
You have crossed the chasm deep and wide;
Why build you this bridge at even-tide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head.
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There follows after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This stream, which has been as naught to me,
To that fair youth may a pitfall be.
He too must cross in the twilight dim —
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.”