Sunday, 26 April 2015

Owls Class poems

THE MIST

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)

No comments:

Post a Comment

Comments are all checked before they go live onto the blog, so please be patient.