Walking down to the old street,
Hearing voices, smelling scents of fall.
Winter will be here soon.
Birds flying across the sky,
I really want to rise up high.
Down there,
there’s houses painted in red,
Down there,
Who will be led?
Flowers growing wildly,
Like the end of the dryly,
Dryly summer.
When or where have I came to?
That little girl holding balloons says so too.
“It’s beautiful,”
I lowered my head,
“What is?”
And she takes the lead,
to the end of the corner,
opened the gate door,
to a place with full of flowers.
“These, oh, and the world.”
Back again on this street,
Birds chirping around the old trees.
Feels familiar,
End of another fall,
winter, and spring
Gorzycki Middle School
8