Willow’s Bell Poetry Contest


One, Two,
Three, Four,
I open my arms,
And head out the doors,

Slap go my hands,
On the narrow door-frame,
Bang goes my head,
On the low ceiling pane,

I set out for the day,
With bruises and sighs,
Not knowing if it,
Will get better or worse,

Walk down the path,
With a hop and a skip,
Trip over a rock,
And land on my hind,

Now down the street,
I go under a ladder,
Step on a crack,
And there goes my mother,

Now into the shop,
I sit down with a cry,
It isn’t my time,
Not yet to die.

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