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A poem11/5/2020 15.02 – 24th March 2020 I hear helicopters, scarce cars The occasional siren sending shivers As I say my prayer It is 3 o’clock Where the air should be filled With pastures of schoolchildren But not even the idling smoke Wafts through my square window. I taste cupfuls of lemon and ginger A sombre heat runs down my throat As I sip and sip It is 3 o’clock And there is nothing else to do Except wish I was anywhere else but Here and instead I grab my pillow And cry out my salty tears For I do not know what will be of this city, Once the day is done. I can only wish for this wholly monstorous thing To take off and to be gone. Contributor: Ellena Vissani
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The Window1/5/2020 A crossed white frame
Some patterned fabric all tied It's heard calling my name but blocking me from going outside Gushing through greens, wild feathered creatures soar by whilst they rest upon trees and hum as they fly Drifting all through Sheltering us from the beams Weightless marshmallows up in blue Partnered with a ball of fire that gleams Dreaming through the panes Wishing to see the rise of dawn A dreadful tugging of my views because I know the blue cloth must be drawn Contributor: Abbey O'Brien, Year 8 |