When winds at night on windows roar
wax runs out dies candle's flame
you would hear a knock upon door
a familiar voice calling your name.

Don't respond nor open the eyes
the voice is keen over winds' howl
grows it louder its pitches rise
scaring even the brave barn owl.

Pull the blanket up your head
you are safe so long you hide
lie dead quiet not move on bed
with mom asleep by your side.

Between the pause your fears mount
if is a chance to be found out
one two three the calls you count
but count it right leave no doubt.

Three times the voice would call your name
for it has no power to do any more
but move onto where dies a candle's flame
and a child is awake behind closed door.

Born to Mother Malice
In a merciless time and place
Where thought so often
Gave way to fight
What chance of trust here?

And so there is no anchor
For a restless wandering soul
Sailing on the savage seas
Of the lost and insecure
On a journey to who knows where

                                              By Phil Roberts