Tuesday May 6, 2003

The Sixth of May

I wrote this in 9th grade. It won honorable mention in a local poetry contest.

The Sixth of May

On a beautiful morning, the sixth of May
With the sunshine glowing, a wonderful day,
With a breeze through the trees,
       And a wind in the bog,
Over the hill, with a kite,
       Came a frog
And his son.


The wind was just right on this beautiful day,
To carry a box-kite up high and away.
The frog had a kite,
       A marvelous thing,
As fancy and bright,
       As a butterfly's wing
In the sun.

He'd brought his kite, to let it fly
Through the perfectly cloudless, clear-blue sky,
Till the sun dipped low,
       And the breeze grew still,
And he heard the cry
       Of the whippoorwill.
He was one.


And one was his son, a rather young frog,
Who rarely had ventured this far from the bog.
He watched the kite
       As it flew in the sun,
And looked for clouds,
       But he couldn't find one.
There were none.


He sat on the hill and watched the grass grow.
And a big yellow butterfly sat on his toe.
He watched the kite
       As it sailed up high,
Blown by the breeze
       Through the cloudless sky.
He had fun.


They sat all day, on a stump, on the hill,
Till they heard the call of the whippoorwill.
Then they reeled in the kite,
       And left for the bog.
Over the hill, with a kite,
       Went a frog
And his son.

The Sixth of May ( in category Special Interests ) - posted at Tue, 06 May, 13:15 Pacific | «e»