As the day’s end draws nigh. We walk on. The blanket overhead stripped of colour, it’s greyness sneering with contempt, Its hues of blue arased from memory. The biting cold pierces the soul like a sharpened dagger,
It shows no mercy with its embrace, Banishing the warmth in disgrace, We walk on.
The Human Rose by Alex Pierides (8L)
It is winter. The rose has been cut down. Seeds are in the soil, waiting to bloom,
in that wondrous day.
It is spring. The rose has just sprung. It cherishes its red leaves of love and com-
passion, but underneath these petals are thorns of hard times.
It is summer. The rose is now fully in season. Bees flock around its petals to get a
taste of the nectar, but in his nectar, the bee pollinates on the roses behalf.
It is autumn. A dead leaf has covered over the roses’ beauty. It can no longer
show off its petals to the Sun. It spends its last days in the cold, in the damp.
Maybe we aren’t so different from the rose.We awake beautiful with youth, but
conceal our bad deeds.We flourish in our teen and early adulthood years. And
we die old and weary, and we weaved our faults through our lives, but we were
beautiful all the way.
Nature by Nicolo Di Nisio (7E)
In the depths of the forest, where life unfolds,
Animals in a rich and peaceful, silent earth.
Swaying paths where the mind dares to wander.
A river of thought twists through Nature.
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