Pelting dew

• Emily Mock, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2003

Grains of sand they were,
Left my world in a blur.
It was an army of many,
A field of countless, shining,
Striking gently upon my face.
Feeding the parched,
Killing the quenched.
They had been consumed
By a mass of white and gray.
Heavy, yet always heaving on,
It didn’t lack in construity.
Amidst a present of blue,
Amidst a never-ending future of black.
There, there’s no sound
Yet, life takes ground.