Sprinting across the river bank,
Animals drinking my skin.
Hearing sounds that are mellow.
Dipping, diving, drawing attention.
Without a frown.
Branches like witches’ fingers
Reaching into my guts.
Slishing, wishing for a happy life forever.
As I was flowing
I started flying through the trees,
My stomach full of weeds.
Eroding through rocks,
Meandering through woods.
People seeing their reflection,
Looking in my direction.
As I was flowing tranquil,
Rain trickled down my skin.
Unfortunately I’m filled with dirt and grime,
I just want to shine again.
I’m ugly now.
I’m a nomad.
I’m a tramp.
Now I feel like a bin made of grime.
By Shannyn of Andover C of E schools year 5