A Poem A Day
The delicate glass is in
my hands.
Suddenly
I hear the door slam. I drop the vase.
I did not
realize how much
power
was in my hands.
I
lean down to pick
up
the cluttered pieces
of glass on
the
ground.
I feel sadness rushing through
my
veins.
I did not
know how much power
I
held
in my hands.
by Amanda, 3rd Grade
[photo by iz'source via flickr]
In this blog Writers in the Schools (WITS) celebrates kids--in their own words. We feature essays, stories, and poems that were created by K-12 students in our program. All material (c) Writers in the Schools 2007-2012. If you wish to republish this work, please credit both the organization and the author and link back to this site. This material may not be used in commercial ventures of any kind.
WITS is a not-for-profit organization, and your contributions are welcome.
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