Flower

Garden

Kaleidoscope of brilliance
Swaying with resilience
Garden full of spirit
Sweet and quiet ambience

Sunshine is the culprit
He loves to cultivate it
Wrapped around it all at most
Rain is his demerit

Garden of a thousand ghosts
Raise their voices in a toast
“May their roots and soil never die-
Those flowers which we cherish most!”

Tree which I now lean against
Tells its story while I sit
My secrets, feelings, innermost
Diluted by the passing time.


Desk

My classroom is a river- the desk a stepping stone
Or maybe it’s a speaker, and my desk a telephone.
Connects me to my writing, the translations of my thought
Perhaps a net, and the small engravings fish that I have caught.
My desk can be a time machine, for in it I hear tales
Of kings and queens and pirate ships and Jonah and the whale.
Some days it’s a prison, when I’m hungry and I’m tired
Yet when I sit back down, my desk will reignite the fire.
My desk will be a rocketship, my classroom outer space
Or maybe it’s an orchestra – my desk will be the bass.
Sometimes it’s my grappling hook, when I’m hanging on the brink
Or maybe just a place where I can stop- and sit- and think…

Caroline Reinstadtler
Age 12, Grade 7
Convent of the Sacred Heart
Gold Key

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