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I rise in a golden glow,
Bathing the world in a blinding light.
I turn the sky beautiful colours,
rose, marigold, tangerine.
People wake and see me,
Spreading my rays of warmth,

By lunch, I am high in the sky,
Casting shadows
Warming the faces of young and old
Who carefully peer up at where I sit.

By night, I am gone,
Only slight traces
Of azure and dandelion yellow remaining.
I am cloaked in a cloth of darkness,
Engulfed by the silver moon.

I travel the sky,
Bringing joy,
Warming the world,

By Zoe Screti (Aged 12 years)

This is a Prayer

This is a prayer for my dear Daddy,
Wherever he may be.
I hope, I pray, one day,
He will return and comfort me.

Mummy told me he may be a while,
That he was the bravest of the brave.
I knew her tears meant more than sorrow,
And that his life he gave.

I wish him peace,
In heaven above,
Please God,
Let him know I send my love.

Dearest daughter,
Remember this,
War is evil, war is wrong,
And it is certainly not bliss.

If you could see what I have seen,
Dying comrades, obliteration.
All this suffering,
For our nation.

I saw my friends fall one by one,
Soon, I felt empty and alone.
A jungle of engulfing gas,
Followed by that dreaded drone,

Of planes overhead,
We were like mice in an evil trap.
We hurried, we ducked,
Into every gap.

One man stood still, nowhere to go,
Knee deep in the trenches slop.
Bang! Crash! Rattle!
We watched him drop.

There was no saving him,
It was his fate.
Every day,
Is a mournful date.

I ventured out of my hiding place,
The pouncing predators watching my every breath.
I knew I had made an unchangeable mistake,
Which certainly meant death.

One bullet in my most valuable place,
My life, my soul, my heart.
Soon it was my body,
Being thrown into the cart.

I tell you this my baby girl,
I love you so very much.
Even though we will not meet again,
I will forever remember your caring touch.

So my dearest daughter,
From heaven above,
I wish you joy and happiness,
And my unconditional love.

By Zoe Screti (Aged 12 years)
A poem influenced by the work of World War I poets Wilfred Owen and Seigfried Sassoon written at examination speed


The world has changed beyond repair.
The winds of change that drove me spare;
Are but a whisper in my ear
The breeze that bids me shed all my worst fears
To hobble down the well worn path,
Turning the pages of my aftermath.

The world has changed and that’s for sure;
All this change, but still no magic cure.
Yet Spring will breathe new life into me
And the grass seems greener, almost heavenly;
The birds are singing courting songs
While my mind sifts out the rights from wrongs.

The photographs of stars I took;
The words I turned into a book
Are nothing to the love we shared, and
The kindness kept for folk who cared:
The ones who drove me round the bend
And those for whom I must now make amends.

The world has changed and so it should,
If I had my time again I would
Have made more changes than I did,
But then again, there were times I hid
My eyes from sights that broke my dreams;
The curtain’s falling fast it seems.

It’ll soon be time to say farewells;
To let you go, before the bell
Rings time on adventures yet to be had:
Take good care of all the lads
And lasses who, without knowing why or even how,
Will make sure you live for the here and now.

The world has changed and do I care?
Not me, holding court from this comfy chair.
The sun is setting to the west:
Its time for me to take my rest.
So I raise a glass to absent friends,
Waiting, waiting for this day to end.

Would they have me pray for the clocks to stop?
So time stands still while I down the last drop
Of aqua vitae, the water of life.
Like the cutthroat surgeon wielding a knife,
Time must persist, even with me gone:
How else will my grandchildren follow on?

The world has changed and will some more,
Does anyone really know what for?
I never really figured it out
But then again, I have no doubt
That it matters little who takes the helm -
Long live the legend that is Pipe Elm.

By Simon Pigden

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