by Diane Taylor

No moon tongiht.

By morning, frost will lace the meadow grass.

An early foal, with staggered stride,

Keeps close against his mother's side.

The creek is frozen silent;

Smooth as glass

And darkly bright.

No moon tonight.
It's hard to die

Alone, beneath the skeletons of trees.

Death walks this January night.

His voice is wind, his step is light.

The old mare slowly trembles to her knees.

He's passing by!

It's hard to die.
Within these hills,

On feathers lying thick upon the floor,

A fox cub, still too young to roam,

Awaits his mothers' coming home.

Her hide hangs raggedly upon the door

Of him who kills

Within these hills.
I'll be alright

As long as I can keep the dark at bay.

It's only wind and nothing more And howls like tortured souls who've lost their way;

Who need my light -

No moon tonight....

Jersua by Diane Taylor

There is another poem below the biography. dont miss it. Diane is a jewell
BIOGRAPHY of Diane Taylor

BIOGRAPHY of Diane Taylor

A native of Little Rock, Arkansas, I learned to love words and the craft of writing from my dad, a Baptist minister. I learned to read when I was three and though a congenital condition is causing slow but sure blindness, I have never lost my passion for stories. I graduated high school (barely) and never attended college or a writing course but I did become a keen observer of people and have used that skill in all my writings. My first book, CREEK MUSIC: OZARK STORY POEMS, was published by August House in 1981. A SCOUNDREL BREEZE followed two years later. Both books tell stories in the form of poetry and, oddly,are about life in the Ozark Mountains; a region I had never visited or researched until my second book was published. In 1994 August House added six poems from A SCOUNDREL BREEZE to CREEK MUSIC and came up with OZARK STORY POEMS, now on sale everywhere.Fishing was about my only hobby until I got my computer. But now I am completely addicted to the Internet and, indeed, moved to Newport News, VA last January to be with a man I met on line. I am also involved with doing crisis intervention on line for people who have been sexually assaulted and I have written several articles and essays on that topic for a state organization in Little Rock.

I am divorced and have no children unless you count Barney, my cat-made-out-of-spare- parts, and my Step-Sheltie, Jacob.
Here is another poem Dian whiped up for me while I was quitting Cigaretts.

Dolly, for you... :) > Frustration > If I had a shiny gun, > I could have a world of fun > Speeding bullets through the brains > Of the folk who give me pains; > Or had I some poison gas, > I could make the moments pass > Bumping off a number of > People whom I do not love. > But I have no lethal weapon- > Thus does Fate our pleasure step on! > So they still are quick and well > Who should be, by rights, in hell.
Ballad of Whippoorwill John Now, Sally Kincaid was a sprightly lass, As gentle and kind as a fawn. But she fell in love with a crazy man By the name of Whippoorwill John. Sally's Pa owned the Notions Store. He had his retirement planned. He'd found a rich banker from Fayetteville And he promised him Sally's hand But every night by the light of the stars While her pa was still a'sleepin, A whippoorwill cried from the mountainside And Sally would go a'creepin. She'd run like a fox down the mountain path To the creek where John sat, grinnin. It's not my place to redden your face But they didn't call it sinnin.. The banker got wind from a nosy friend That Sally was carrying on With a mountain lad and it made him mad. He went to find Whippoorwill John. He huffed and puffed to the base of the bluff Where he'd been told they were meetin. He'd follow the trill of that whippoorwill And he'd give young John a beatin! But at dusky dark, a homing lark Woke the banker from his slumber. Then a whippoorwill from high on the hill Sent him crashing through the lumber! He was whippoorwilled up and whippoorwilled down And the cool air made him shiver. He thought he was tough till he fell down a bluff And was whippoorwilled into the river. It musta been John a'carryin on - Is that what you been thinking? Well friend, you're wrong, cause Sally and John Were married while the banker was sinkin. How do I know it happened just so? I've lived my life in this valley What's my name? I'll tell you the same - My good friends call me Sally .. From A Scoundrel Breeze ( I think ) by Diane Taylor