A Convict
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Gemma Henderson, Grade 5
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Poetry
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2011
I see a shovel, mine I watch as the dirt makes a pile.I see other people, thieves, convicts like me.I'm so hot, I'm disappointed in my self but my physical pain takes away my mental. Starving ,I'm starving to death, dirt, I live on dirt. Again my blister stings as I clutch my shovel."Ow"