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Junior School Newsletters

Sidcot in September

Sidcot in September

From the English Department: a series of poems about 'September', written by students in Year 7 and the Sixth Form.

 

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The birds trill their autumn song,
The water of the fountain dances,
The wind whispers in the thinning treetops.

The leaves sprinkle down as confetti,
Leaving the tree without its green
Splendour.

The dew rests on the grass like miniature crystals,
Pure and shining in the
Morning light.

The ground ‘neath the trees is chestnut brown.
It is a time of death, Sidcot in September.
But it is also a time of
New life.

by Linus Pomroy
7 NCP

 

The Sidcot Garden

In the garden I hear,
The beautiful sound of the birds in the trees,
Tweeting sweetly in the breeze,
The cold moist morning air wakes me to a new day,

I hear the soft trickle of a fountain nearby,
I smell the soft but sweet scent of roses too,
I can see the early morning light spying on me through the leaves,
waking me to a new day,

Now I can see a small pair of dragon-flies,
scooping about the pond,
the sun is rising higher and higher into the sky,
and I say goodbye to the morning of the new day.

Tobias Millar
7NCP

 

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The valley floor cracks.
Dotted, spotted, into islands of a dry sea.
The stream of a river, a vassal of eternity.
Longing for rain, just a touch, by nature’s kind, invisible, hand.
Suffering in the heat, hopeful, but dormant
Flowing thinly through dry bank sand.
Lying, praying, in the sun, its day just begun.

In the grip of the frozen cold, the river winding, in its song untold,
For held in frozen motion, are waterfalls,that lie in peace
As cascades of crystal, majestic at least.
For held in suspension, its water like Iron,
Rigidly gaining, through thaw, the voice of a lion
As the ice breaks in the wake of water winding
The waterfalls, groan, then roar in the breaking frost.
The river’s cold master, overthrown.

But now in the heat again, with its soul stretched thin
The river marches on, unbeaten again.
Though small and meek, it inherits the earth.
Not stopping, or slowing, or needing rebirth,
For hope when still, when stuck in the past
The river moves on, determinedly, growing and flowing
Learning its song.

Anon
IB Student

Independent day and boarding school for boys and girls aged 3 - 18 in Somerset