Autumn Morn, et al

Autumn Morn

The sound of–
soft morning
Perhaps a–
bird calling
so lightly,
so gently.
Fall chorus–
singing sweet
so peaceful,
so lovely.
Crisp Autumn–
The fresh wind
Moving still–
the hammock


Not ten feet away can I see
This murky, beautiful fog has enveloped me
I may as well close my eyes tonight
Not wait days, or years, for the sky to light
Hide away birds in your burrows so deep
Silence, grand blackbird, I don’t want a peep
In the underbrush, a cave so soft
A squirrel lays, it’s children aloft
Nestled, somewhere, are the bees
Somewhere else the chickadees
The only noise, that’s not the rain
Is erased by the fog, it’s powers a-gain
Maybe it’s time for a doze, myself
Goodnight, my children, I bid you health

Small Things

The birds,
With their heads nestled
Between warm feathers,
Preparing for greater days.
The rabbits,
Scurrying into their burrows
In the soil
Bidding their lair goodnight.
The raccoons,
Their ringed tails swishing deviously
Unlike others, just arising
Mapping out the trash cans they plan to raid.
The butterflies,
Who close their wings,
That sparkle and let the darkness overcome them
Twitch their antennae in a fever
Until sleep comes.
The child,
Lying on his back
With woolen blankets over his toes
Closes his eyes
At last.

Ariela Buxbaum Grice
Age 14, Grade 9
Hunter College High School
Gold Key

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