Viking

• Melina Koveos, Grade 5
• Poetry
• 2007

Sitting on a hill, milking cows, churning milk
Mother below me is waiting for the four seasons to go,
Suddenly, I hear a squeal,
I run outside and see
Viking Ships! Come to take our land!
I sprint, below with my brave dog following me,
barking as we go,
I finally get to our hut
blood and wounds everywhere.
I hush my cries and see,
A viking stabbing mother in the heart,
she closes her eyes and fades away.
A tear rund down my face.
Vicking hands grab me so tightly
I say goodby to my birthplace.
Now, Im a slave, with no fight.