Sunday, 26 April 2015

Owls Class poems


The mist is a frightening ghost,
Translucent and saturated.
Drenching you with freezing spit.
So silent, So silent,
He creeps around grabbing you with his dripping arms,
Throwing blinding mist at you.
So cold, So cold,
The wind is like a wolf,
Howling at the coal black sky.
The rain shoots down trying to hurt his enemies! You!

In the morning the mist dissolves.
The sun breaks his way into the sky,
As grumpy as could be.
When will he be back,
Tomorrow or today?

By AM (Herons' Class)

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