My Day Outside

my_day_outside

The other week, when I was cleaning out my room, I pulled down my memory box. This was not such a intelligent idea, as it meant that for an hour, I would be reading every single birthday card, letter, et cetera, that was in there. Most of my cards and letters have been saved from my first birthday through my seventh or eighth, but since then, other items have been added. Along with these was a book of poems I wrote at the age of ten or eleven. (I can easily find out my exact age, but so far I have not chosen to do that.) That was the short phase in my life where I wrote poems non-stop. Ever since I haven’t been able to. I have, for a fact,¬†learned to write with better imagery. ¬†However I have not gotten to the actual poem stage.

One day I decided to print out all of my poems that were written on Microsoft Word and staple them together to create a book. That later went into my memory box. I thought, when I pulled them out, that I would put my best one up here. This one is my first and favorite, titled “My Day Outside”. Note that it has not been altered in the least since written.

My Day Outside

What fun it might be,
to climb in a tree.
To fly way up high,
up into the sky.

To soar in the air,
wind blowing my hair.
To swim in the sea,
a fish and me.

I lie in the grass,
and watch the clouds pass.
To buzz with the bees,
drinking nectar with ease.

-Aria

Related posts: