A golden life

• Polly Mitton, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2004

I walk out of my house,
The mourning air is crisp,
Quiet as a mouse,
Amoung the mouerning mist.

Alas the birds start to stur,
as do people too,
the cartwheels bergin to whir,
and the air now dusty and hot,
but I shall make do.

My shovel scraping gravel from the ground,
the weather steaming hot,
the noise of talking all around,
Will this day be any different?
I THINK NOT!

Alas what is that I see?
"EUREKA" I shout!
No ones happier than me.