Wednesday, 24 May 2017

My favourite place poem.

My Grandparents cottage was usual enough; It had
a hammock, a droopy willow tree, a pond, an old playhouse and even a 2 story wooden shabby shed that sat on the cold pebbles.  My sister cousins and I did what we loved to do, Gallop round in our togs, splosh pond water on each other, relax on the swaying hammock whilst eating my Nana’s melting gooey chocolate.
The warm summer days got cooler as it got later. All we did was lay on the fresh grass doing nothing important.

Rosie A Neal

Thursday, 11 May 2017

Cold Water Experience.

On a hot bridge valley day, I was slipping down the burning water slide.
My breathe was taken as I slide into the dark icy water. I couldn't see my noodle legs dangle beneath me.
Frantically swimming I was afraid of what my feet might discover underneath me.

The Lake was taking the feeling our of my numb body, as I was scrambling through the murky water to find the soft grass. Pulling myself onto the warm grass, my teeth chattered like an old engine. My hair was matted and soggy, woven with leaves hung old like a mop.