Sunday, 26 April 2015

Owls class weather poems!

THE MIST

The mist is a visible ghost,
White and pale,
He hangs around us most of the day,
Hour upon hour he circles you,
Hugging you with his moist fingers,
So moist so moist,

Slowly he fades away,
So you can not see him any more,
Will he return?
Who knows.

By JSE

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