Hearing the feet clatter up the walk
Three steps into the cottage.
The smell of the woods and the animal hide
for a door.
Four beds just lying around smelling like oatmeal.
Hearing the chatter of the daddy long legs
Or hearing the crickets sing, rubbing their legs with their wings.
Hearing the trees laugh
though the woods say, “Go to sleep.”
The air tastes like pollen.
In the air, the golden flakes…that you fling on the ground.
Then I saw a little girl
with blackish brownish hair.
And she had braids and pink barrettes in her long hair.
Small or short—
Who can tell?
To feel it come down,
The color of a moody princess.
The color of her golden hair.
I would ask,
Why do the trees laugh?
Why do they say good night?
By Jaylan, 3rd grade
[photo by bailiff6 via flickr]