Sunday, 26 April 2015

Owls Class Poems


The mist is a blank ghost,
Translucent ,waterlogged ghost
leaning in to touch you,
Noises as they fly around you,
Dripping water of the raging ghosts,
Throwing lights that immediately turn to mist,
The ghosts mysteriously clear away,
You can tell because the floor is damp and soaking wet.
So quiet, So quiet once the ghosts fly away.


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