Poetry

Andrew M, Mods 3-4

 

The Winter

 

Why do we bother with Summer?

The sweat rolling down my face,

Like a bowling ball down the lane.

 

The sweat stings my eyes;

It is a bee that won’t go away.

 

This is the best-

Gazing out the window,

Looking at the fresh snow,

And taking the first crisp step in the white powder.

 

Maybe making a snowball,

A fortress of solitude,

But mostly going out to snowboard all day long.

 

T.V. and laptop turned on,

Watching the news and hoping

For school to be closed.

 

And we play outside in the soft miracle.

Houses covered, hills white as Santa’s beard.

Almost here,

Christmas is on the way,

And happiness will fill my house

In the winter time.