WIND CAPERS

The wild wind was frantic and blew everywhere.

It ranted and raved and blew up the stair.

It clattered the rain against window and door,

Then forced itself under and soaked the floor.

It raced up the fields and ran all around.

The sheep were amazed but just stood their ground.

It blew round the chimney and rattled the slates.

It spun round the yard and bashed into the gates.

The dustbin blew over, the plant pots were rocked,

Even the light bulb blew out of its socket.

It whipped up the water in rivers and seas,

The fish were so frightened, they sank to their knees.

All through the night it ravaged and raged,

One hardly could sleep for the noise that it made.

Then when dawn came, exhausted and spent,

It collapsed in a heap and silently went.

Mrs D Riley, Frosterley

NEW DAY

It’s a new day

Yesterday’s troubles

Are where they belong.

Start off a new day

Hear birds’ song.

Search your mind for a new tune.

All of our days are over too soon.

Alan Cooper, Darlington

DOG BLANKET DAY

A Labrador’s day starts at dawn

Licking his lips and a great big yawn

Hen house to raid for fresh eggs laid

Chasing rabbits from stubble to glade.

All day long catching flies

Snoozing dreaming of dog dinner pies

Wandering around the lawn so warm

Watching moths, bees and ants swarm.

Afternoon snooze in a dog bed blanket

Pester the leader for dog walk antics

At eighteen hundred on the very dot

Dog dinnertime of bone in a pot.

When the day finally draws to a close

Sit next to Master’s slippered toes

Drift into slumber at sunset time

Dreaming of rabbits and dog dinnertime.

NA Smith, Chester-le-Street

A POEM

The garden of Brompton on Swale

Is where I like to be.

It’s full of flowers and busy bees

And creatures that hide under the trees.

The pretty butterflies go floating by

I try to catch them but they’re flying too high.

The snails go crawling on the path

And make it slippery to pass.

I like to see the flowers grow.

They stand so pretty in a row.

The frogs are croaking in the pond

And make an awful sound.

Birds are busy flying in the sky,

Collecting things that are high.

Sophie Herrington, aged 8, Scorton, nr Richmond