I was born in your yard. I am a tiny thing.
Your grass is so green; it’s all I have seen
for now. I am hanging, thinking of what
I’ve done to deserve this. Birds chirping
and happy children playing. I am growing
old. I feel that oh-so-wobbly feeling. I FALL!
Luckily, I am still alive. Now, you are reading
at my trunk. “I’m right here!” I call out
impatiently. Finally, you see me. You bring me
into your house, set me on your window sill.
After a few days with no water, I’m dead by drought.
I fought and fought but my luck was out.
By Tinsley, 3rd grade
[photo by P. J. McAddie via flickr]