A Little Something for the New Year
It’s been almost 3 weeks since my last blog post. Has everyone else’s December been as crazy as mine? In the time that’s lapsed I’ve travelled to my home state of Illinois twice, attended the wedding of a good college friend, gone to a couple Christmas parties, had two family Christmases in two different states, and kissed in the new year.
Also, I’m pretty sure I just broke a Blogging 101 rule: don’t apologize for blogging absences. Explaining isn’t the same as apologizing though, right? However, I will apologize for my lack of commenting on your blogs, dear reciprocal readers. I’m looking forward to getting back into a more normal cycle of writing and reading.
While I have plans to post soon about many of those December happenings as well as more house projects, movie and book reviews, Wordless Wednesdays, and Five-Sense Fridays, today I have a special treat for you.
Poetry. Written by yours truly. At age 12.
Don’t you feel lucky? Wait, don’t answer that.
In cleaning out the bookshelves recently, I stumbled across an old gem: The Anthology of Poetry by Young Americans, 1996 Edition, Volume CXXXIV. You didn’t know I was a published poet, did you? Honestly, I’d forgotten too.
Without further ado, the poetry of 12-year-old Sarah:
In the Dark and Gloomy House
In the dark and gloomy house
All alone at night.
A very dark and gloomy
Figure did I see?
A monster maybe?
Or a ghost?
I’ll jump in bed and then
Pull up the covers quick as I can.
Or is that a good idea?
Will it wake the monsters up
That sleep underneath my bed?
“Quick!” I think, “Close the closet doors!”
Just as I step on the floor I know my
I feel an icy hand pulling on my ankle.
“Help!” I cry.
And help came sooner than I thought.
For suddenly I found myself sitting up in bed!
I looked out the window,
The sun was shining bright.
“Ah, it was just a dream,” I sighed.
But then as I looked closer
Very, very barely did I miss it.
A rustling of leaves. A thump.
I saw the monsters slip out my window.
Not too shabby for 12, huh? That’s what I’d like to think anyway. All in all, I think it’s probably a good thing I gave up poetry while I was still ahead.