“Bright-colored by the reflection of the sun,
curved at each tip,
the wind blowing it towards me.”
My leaf is
soft,
fragile,
slowly falling to the ground.
Crunch, crunch.
Bright-colored by the reflection of the sun,
curved at each tip,
the wind blowing it towards me.
When I grab it I smell it,
and it smells like the soft ground
1 Comment
I think that your piece is wonderful! You probably have seen me on the parenthetical before with Believe, The New Pup In Town, Champion, and When You Kiss Me Goodnight. It is amazing that a 9 year old wrote this. To be honest, I thought it was by a 12 year old! Keep writing, you have a real gift.
-Maddie :)