Patrycja Wanat, 13Rajsko, Oświęcim, Poland Spring-20 Patrycja Wanat, 13 Kite tails should be in the sky, Bees are flying by. Spring has arrived! Everyone should be bright, But not this year, Because we’re all filled with fear From COVID-19, We are waiting for a vaccine. Somehow we have to cope, And we can only have hope, That this coronavirus will go away. We pray Everyday That everything can go back to the way it was Because People are losing jobs, People are losing something everyday And that is not okay. Coronavirus if you’re reading this, please stop doing this!
COVID-19
Life of a Pencil by Amruta Krishnan Srinivasan, 9
Amruta Krishnan Srinivasan, 9San Jose, CA Life of a Pencil Amruta Krishnan Srinivasan, 9 Man’s best friend is a dog. Amruta’s best friend—a pencil. Well, I used to be. I used to be her treasure, a creator. Her creativity flooded through my tip. I made stories, I made artwork. Now, I am left forgotten like an old toy. I am rarely picked up these days. I wait around all day to be picked up. It is all about that good for nothing laptop and his even worse keyboard. Pen(cil)manship means nothing. Just choose a better font is all there is to it. She has traded a perfectly fine pencil like me for a keyboard. Well, what is there to complain. My buddy paper is traded for a screen and worse, a mere backspace button has replaced eraser. As fancy gadgets waltz in, we are pushed to a corner of the table. And that is how life has been for the past few months—in the shadow of a gadget never been able to show my true colors. Can this pandemic end?
Quarantine, a poem by Shravya Sethi, 11
Quarantine Shravya Sethi, 11 The light, not of sun The clash of a noise Coming from the box It’s not quite a toy The smell of a cake wafting from the oven door you dive in and say “I really want more!” A mask of protection For others, not you So that when you sneeze The germs can’t get through Digging holes, making new life Planting more, watching them thrive Aching back, going to sleep Joyous cries, seeing them strive A flight past the houses I’m a blur, on two thin wheels pumping my feet, dirtying blouses The sensation is surreal And sitting at home On the couch, all alone This year we shall stare silently at our phones
