Piers Alcott, Grade 4
The squawk of the crows ring through the walls of a town made from heavy bricks and pale hands.
The ripples in the water let off a dreamy affect, like one of Michelangelo’s paintings. The lily pads stumble and trip, though there is nothing in their way.
Wishes and dreams float and waft silently higher and higher into the frosty atmosphere.
Clouds argue and mess about, none of them anxious of their ways, but then start to moan and cry. They sail through the sky, only enjoying the laughter of the small kids playing.
The ocean sways and swings cheering.