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Wooden Hill Primary and Nursery School

Wooden Hill Primary and Nursery School

Poem of the Week

When you go home,

Tell them of us and say:

'For your tomorrow,

we gave our today'.

by John Maxwell Edmonds

Autumn Leaves (Anonymous)

The leaves lie like forgotten memories –

orange, yellow and golden-brown.

A sudden wind whips them up;

they dance,

tumble,

fly,

then settle.

A crazy carpet of autumnal hues.

 

Truth (Barrie Wade)

Sticks and stones may break my bones,

but words can also hurt me.

Stones and sticks break only skin,

while words are ghosts that haunt me.

 

Slant and curved the word-swords fall

to pierce and stick and inside me.

Bats and bricks may ache through bones,

but words can mortify me.

 

Pain from words has left its scar

on mind and heart that’s tender.

Cuts and bruises now have healed;

it’s words that I remember.