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English 10 Poetry

By , Flushing, MI

A steel blade

It was given, not made
Grandfather gave it to me
My grandchild’s blade to be
Another family heirloom
A family tree that blooms
Hunting, a family tradition
The blade is just a rendition
Hunters before me, hunters to be,
I think of the blade as I think of glee

Memory Poem

Sometimes I sit and ponder
Upon that crazy day,
The time I was filled with wonder
Even frozen trees would sway

Sometimes it was bad
Sometimes it was good
The things I would never have
And the things I always would

Cold frost on slick metal,
The mittens with no grip
Never a dull moment or brake pedal,
The day I took the slip

The glue chips were stuck
Like glue and like guck
Jagged breaks in my arm
The pain was only an alarm

Five separate breaks
I knew what I had done
Like a bunch of biting snakes
The day I broke my arm

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