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City of London Freemen's School

Page history last edited by Anastasia Symons 1 year, 5 months ago

December

The month of Christmas,

Of frosty windows and snow,

Of warm hugs and love.

 

The frosty windows,

Of Christmas month and warm hugs,

Of love and of snow.

 

Of snow and of love,

The Christmas month of warm hugs,

And frosty windows.

 

By Anastasia Symons

 

Stranded 

 

Left alone,                                                                                                                                                                                                           stranded.   

 

On his own,                                                                                                                                                                                                         stranded. 

 

No one to love,                                                                                                                                                                                                    stranded. 

 

Homeless and unloved,                                                                                                                                                                                       stranded.

 

As free as can be,                                                                                                                                                                                                 stranded.

 

Yet still unhappy,                                                                                                                                                                                                 stranded.

 

LIFE IS HARDCORE,                                                                                                                                                                                                    LIVING LIKE A BORE.

 

by Rory Mathers 

 

The Life of Grass

Towering above bugs,

The green mountains stand,

While the wind roughly tugs,

Though their roots give a hand.

 

Together they group,

Looking as big as bamboo,

While the ants march in troop,

On the green shoots new.

 

Stretching towards the light,

It creates food for itself,

As well as the air,

Us towering giants inhale.

 

Oh, and when the snowflakes fall,

Even when covered they try to call,

They fight, they grow, they really stand tall,

In the wind, rain, sun and snow.

 

Though as the summer comes,

Their stalks are brown and dry,

They see the blade and run they try,

Now, lives over, they are tossed to the compost where they will rot and die.

 

By Anastasia Symons

 

Memories of a Good Day

In my bed means sleep,

Though my alarm clock goes beep.

 

At the table means food,

Eating toast in a tired mood.

 

In the car means travel,

Lots of fun and games unravel.

 

At my Grandma's means sweets!

Lots and lots of tasty treats!

 

In the park means fun,

And if I'm good, a sugared bun!

 

At the sink means wash,

The neck and face with a splosh.

 

All the sugar from my chin,

Wiped away with a sleepy grin.

 

Bedtime does await me soon,

Up comes the shimmer of the moon.

 

For now its time for me to sleep,

Memories of my day for me to keep.

 

By Anastasia Symons

 

My Perfect Day

The sun floods my room,

Which is basking in the warm light,

While the sky does loom, 

Into my fuzzy, sleepy sight.

 

A new day to come,

Exciting adventures await,

I could lie on my tum,

No I joke, that I'd hate!

 

My breakfast I chomp,

Rushing every single bite,

Eager, ready to romp,

Or just fly my red kite.

 

I could splash in the stream,

But climbing trees sounds good,

Make bubbles with a gleam,

Or maybe carve some oak wood.

 

I just can't decide,

Every thing sounds so great!

On my perfect day,

With the sun up late!

 

By Anastasia Symons

 

 Hide Behind

Have you ever seen the hide behind

You probably haven't

Because wherever you look

The hide behind's behind you

By Alice Cook 

 

 

I remember

I remember the way the floorboards creaked

I remember the fire that roared

I remember the hard, paneled walls

I remember the old,big peach tree

I remember the scratchy rose garden

I remember the old gate going out onto the road

I remember the spider web infested attic

I remember the cosy, antique living room  

I remember the doors squeaking open

I remember the dusty, falling down shed

I remember the disgusting laundry room

I remember the scary, ancient cellar

I remember the tiny car on the drive

I remember the swings in the garden

I remember the rickety trampoline

I remember the broken down door

I remember the people who lived there

I remember their miniature dog

They're gone now and so's their house

By Alice Cook 

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