The sound so beautiful Yet cold inside Cleela, Cleela, The crickets chirp. Ooo 0000 whoo whoo The owls’ almost Silent Yet shuddering sound. The cast of the Whispering wind Sends the dark Blanket The stillness The coolness of the night. Whisp win whisp win The night has come again. Morgan Harris Green, 8 Madison, Wisconsin
Poem
Forgive Me
Something so strong, Not the sharpest knife could spear, Not the heaviest club could knock out, Not the strongest python could strangle, But with one word I detached our friendship. Now I must ask forgiveness. Deep as the ocean, Meaningful as a smile, I must ask forgiveness. I must stitch together the wide rip, With words so powerful, Lions will bow down. Zoe Paschkis, 12 Newton, Massachusetts
The Answer of the Night
Your mother is calling you. It is time to go to bed. The night is calling out its cry of dark. “Come, come,” she calls to you. Again you do not answer. The clock strikes nine. The cat is rubbing at your ankles. You are silent. Your mother calls you again and again, But you still do not go. The peepers are singing, And the birds are calling the sound of night. The moon is already out and shining on the houses. You run into the yard. Owls start to hoot. A frog jumps out of the stream Breaking the stillness of the night. The dog barks in his kennel. The night is answering. You still do not go inside. Your mother calls one last time, And you finally go in to bed. Elizabeth Sughrue, 7 Grasonville, Maryland
Evening on the Fish Pond
The fish pond lies embraced By a cradle of stillness . . . Gentle autumn winds Rustle through its lacy reeds, Rippling the cool water, Caressing the banks As tenderly as a finger on a rose. Rushes adorned with Shimmering water-pearl dresses Bend over the still water, Peering at a wavy reflection of A gold and crimson sky. The soft blanket of night Gently lays its cheek onto the pond As sounds of crickets herald A warm, serene night. Danny Musher, 11 Bethesda, Maryland
If I Could Choose . . .
If I could choose to be any place in the world, I would choose Malaysia where my grandma lives; Where you can smell the hot, humid air, And see the palm trees sway in the breeze. If I could choose to be any place in the world, I would choose Australia where my granduncle lives; Where the wind makes sand fly And where all the animals are unique. If I could choose to be any place in the world, I would choose Singapore, where my cousins live; Where everybody is welcoming to visitors, And they all have wonderful things to say. If I could choose to be any place in the world, I wouldn’t care where it was. Whether it was hot and dry, Whether it was cold and wet, I would choose to be any place in the world, As long as I could be with my family. Jennifer Chin, 11 Bellevue, Washington
The First Snowflake
At midnight today, the first snowflake fell Wandering through miles of clear December air. It blew onto my windowpane And lay there, a silent witness To the candlelight twinkling within And the stars without. Sarah Kim Perry, 11 Bethesda, Maryland
Winter Light
Warm light Streams from the sky Snow swirls in freezing wind Still, I will go out. Through the branches sprinkles A shower of light A lesson from the trees About the winter sun Here is Miyo’s poem in Japanese: atatakai hikari ga sora kara futte kuru fukisusabu kitakaze no naka sore de mo watakushi wa soto ni deru eda no suldma yori furisosogu hikari no shawaa gairoju ga oshiete kureta mafuyu no taiyoo Miyo Kurosaki, 12 Kyoto, Japan
Winter Light
Warm light Streams from the sky Snow swirls in freezing wind Still, I will go out. Through the branches sprinkles A shower of light A lesson from the trees About the winter sun Here is Miyo’s poem in Japanese: atatakai hikari ga sora kara futte kuru fukisusabu kitakaze no naka sore de mo watakushi wa soto ni deru eda no suldma yori furisosogu hikari no shawaa gairoju ga oshiete kureta mafuyu no taiyoo Miyo Kurosaki, 12 Kyoto, Japan
Life Without You
You were loved, sweet, Always smiling When I needed you, You left. You gave me the name orphan, You gave me a black shadow, Life without you has no sense. Now, in your best years, Black soil covers you. O my Daddy On your grave There are roses It’s me who put them there Your orphan My Daddy A life without you. Florije Bobi, 12, Lybeniq, Kosovo The poem and drawing on these two pages were created in 1999 by young ethnic Albanians from western Kosovo. Many of these young people witnessed mass murder and the systematic destruction of their family homes. They were forced to march over the mountains to refugee camps in neighboring Albania and Montenegro. An international relief agency called Concern Worldwide organized classes for the young refugees and compiled their work in a book called Drawing Lessons. To learn more about Concern Worldwide, go to their Web site at www.concernusa.org. Laberije Shala, 13 Rashiq, Kosovo
Night Magic
When my spirit is low You’ll catch it And carry it on your back. You’ll fly through the gardens And into town. You’ll fly past the bright streetlights With my spirit holding on tight. You’ ll use your silent magic And light up one last time. Then you’ll fly into my backyard Up through my window As the summer breezes blow. You’ll gently drop my spirit over me. And with my spirit all lit up And shining bright I’ll sleep peacefully through the summer night With visions of lightning bugs in my mind. Sarah Dougherty, 11 Jenkintown, Pennsylvania
The Day Before Fat Tuesday
Whenever I smell potato leek soup, I drift back to the Mardi Gras dinner, While serving the steaming hot side dish. Instead of hearing the soft music Playing in the background of the cafe I hear the clash of a glass plate falling to the floor And the loud chatter of hundreds of people. And whenever I eat pearl couscous, I’ll wander back to the tables Littered with plastic crawfish and beads. When it’s the day before Fat Tuesday And it’s seventy-degree weather, I’ll think of when we played Truth or Dare in the playground. Wherever I am, I’ll always remember that night, The day before Fat Tuesday. Alice Baumgartner, 12 Chicago, Illinois
No Simple Thank You
I didn’t know That going to my new school Would mean four long nights Away from you. I didn’t know I would miss your scratchy face When you kiss me, Wrestling on the bed, Climbing on your back Or into the “rabbit hole” To watch TV together. I didn’t know Just how much I’d miss your funny faces And my favorite Hungarian love song About meeting the girl at seven-thirty Under the stars. I didn’t know How much I loved Your gentle “slamming” me into bed, Your never giving me a straight answer And the footballs we throw to each other. I know now how much you love me Because you drive the long miles To San Francisco Working extra, Returning only after everyone is asleep Just for me. You leave before dawn, but You call every morning and night Just to say you love me millions. The only thing ever scary about you Is losing you. It breaks my heart And unfolds it That you work so long and hard Just for me. Mark Roberts, 10 Windsor, California
