Phyllis Scott Alexandria, Virginia

Mrs. Scott is a native Virginian whose paternal forefathers were among the first settlers in the Commonwealth. She is a Private Investigator and is a specialist in several fields of this profession. She takes great pride in the fact that "God's Garden - Garden of Stones", "Welcome, Comrad" and two other original works remain on permanent display in the Admin. Building of Arlington National Cemetery; "D-Day Remembrances - Crosses of Salvation" was published in the Twenty-Niner Newsletter July 1994; "A Memorial Salute - At Dawn's First Light" is scheduled for publication in the National Library of Poetry's fall anthology.

Gentle Breeze As the gentle breeze does cross my face And rustle through my hair without a trace My heart senses it as a slight caress From your loving breath deep in your breast. Do I imagine you ever so near Before the breeze, my eyes release a tear And you come in that loving form of breeze To let me know you are finally at ease; To let me know you are ever near Each and every time I shed a tear; Or when the tears do not fall You are there standing ever so tall; Or do I wish so very hard To feel a sign from you from afar? No, I do not imagine this For the gentle breeze is your sweet kiss!

A Wall of Remembrance From an architect's mind it came to be A wall of black granite many come to see. But, look closer, all ye who pass this way Pause and reflect what it has to say. Speak, you say, but I cannot hear But, look into the message captured in a tear Which flows freely down many a cheek Volumes are said though it cannot speak. Upon the ground at its base are placed Flags, flowers, notes from some who depart in haste. While others search, mourn and linger Tracing a name with a trembling finger; While others bring forth paper and pencil To trace a name - a treasured stencil. The name etched in stone are etched in each heart Of loved ones and comrades who are torn apart From these brave defenders of this land And, who try to reach out with a trembling hand. Yes, this wall of granite speaks volumes unheard With each name - many a heroic word.

Helping Hands The day dawned as any other For every father, mother, sister and brother Little did anyone know How it would change many lives so As the pictures came across the screen We could not fathom the horrid scene Yet, aid came from far and wide Many, their pain, they could not hide As the hours stretched into days The tireless efforts ne'er faded away Side by side these strangers worked as one From dusk 'til the rising of the sun

All poems Copyright © 1996 Phyllis Scott. All rights reserved.