F is for fire.
A light snow for November
the archway was dark
the courtyard was filling
a good crowd
the stink of fear on their breath
like soured wine
a good crowd
considering the weather
some looked at the sky
it was white and signless
the children's feet were cold
nothing went as planned
the straw wouldn't catch
a priest sent running to the stables
the speeches fell flat.

A	B	C	D	E	F	G	H	I	J
K	L	M	N	O	P	Q	R	S	T
		U	V	W	X	Y	Z

Hypertext, poetry, and other links
Index of first lines
Thumbnail page of all graphics
Resources used to create Alphaweb
Introductory page
Meet the Weaver

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