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Environment Poem by Lucy T, Year 9 LGGS

Summer scurries in
On the edge of spring
Excited to take her place
Wildly spinning with grace
But then her timer runs out
And she has to dropout
For in twirls autumn
And she alters the mood
Leaf after leaf is barbecued
Until lastly falls winter
Comes in fast like a sprinter
A blanket spreads across the globe
The temperature drops
Exhausted from her work, she flops.

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Ash by Weronika S, Year 9 LGGS

Ash.
The remains of leaves coat bare earth,
like smoke
and with it
tree-dwellers nest in trunks of bare trees,
their branches glazed with a frost
coaxing all into a wary slumber
while the forest holds its breath
impatient for the solaced arrival of spring.

Spring has sprung
and with it,
come times of consolation,
as life revives itself
from the deep doze that had enveloped it.
With plentiful warmth,
seeping through trees and into the ground
enveloping like a soothing blanket.
And with it,
comes new life.

Summer arrives,
and with it
unwelcome, stifling heat
soaking all in an uncomfortable warmth,
while waves of stifling heat
batter the land.

Autumn comes
and with it
the beginning of the frost.
Preparation has begun
and tree-dwellers work at their stores
and with them works the whole forest
as unfathomable cold sweeps through it,
enveloping the land in a
widespread shiver.
Whirls like shrunken tornadoes
stir the earth,
blanketed by leaves
in shades of orange and brown hue.
While hibernators shuffle in their dens
preparing for their winter sleep
bringing consolation
which takes them away
until warmth swathes the land,
while the leaves turn to
Ash.

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A Good Year for Painted Ladies by Alison Riley

Sat around the kitchen table, talk is of the weather.
We cross fingers, toes, eyes, for dry days for making hay.
A line of unruly wellies skulk near the door like sheepdogs
Not used to being in the house.

Hours slide by like mud hosed from the yard.
July rain lashes down. Lashes across to be precise.
Billowing like bed sheets on a line.
The forecast’s better for later in the week.

It’s been a hot, wet summer.
You don’t want grass sticking to your boots like it has.
We make silent promises to any god that’s listening
For a clear run for cutting, tedding, baling.

A plate of home-made buns lands on the table.
It’s nigh on impossible to worry about anything
With a mug of hot tea in one hand, a bun in the other.
Still, it’s been a good year for painted ladies.

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Window by Mary Hodges

I gaze at the view as I sit by my window.
The snowdrops are over, the primrose in flower.
The riverside footpath is busy with walkers
Enjoying spring sunshine, dodging spring showers.

I pull up my scarf as I sit by my window
It’s dank and it’s chill and the rain’s beating down.
No-one is passing in this bleak November
The river is rising, a torrent of brown.

I watch the bright scene as I sit by my window.
The snow on the ground gleams white in the sun.
Children rush out to shout and throw snowballs
Sliding and sledging and snowmen are fun.

Once I could run and walk by the river
And climb all the hills and hear all the birds
Now all I can do is watch from my window
And treasure the memories I picture in words.

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The Dying of the Year by John Hindle

The swallows back sweeping through the air,
life is recovering in seasons change,
harvesting light and rejuvenating,
in this spiritual and organic awakening,
natures dynamo propels again.

Rain washes the sorrow and darkness of winter away,
Spring sings a thousand songs,
colours emerging into new light,
daffodils and crocuses spring to life,
pollen purifies the space between the blue bird and I
while his song is in the air again.

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The countryside… by Elizabeth H, Year 7 LGGS

Enchanted woods and forests high on hills,
Miraculous views and hight to give you chills.
Frost on trees and white winter snow,
And through the wind snowflakes blow.
This is the countryside with all its might,
Giving in to winters fight.
Yet at last spring has sprung,
To bring flowers and fun.
Bulbs silently spring from the ground,
Not a patch of bear land to be found.
They bloom into roses and little white daisies,
While pollen in the air makes you feel hazy.
This is the countryside with all its might,
Giving in to springs fight.
Yet at last summer has sprung,
To bring long days in the sun.
The sun is high,
Not a cloud in the sky.
The weather warm,
The beaches swarmed.
This is the countryside with all its might,
Giving in to summers might.
Yet at last Autumn has sprung,
For misty days and cold suns.
Golden leaves beneath your feet,
Grounds covered in icy sleet.
Some birds no longer cheep,
As animals drift slowly asleep.
This is the countryside with the seasons might,
Always giving in to Spring, summer, autumn and winter’s fight.
Always changing every year,
As time slowly disappears.

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THE SEASONS by Beatrix D, Year 7 LGGS

We walked this path yesterday, yet now it is all new
A gentle chill, fiery leaves, the sky no longer blue,
The summer birds all fly away, leaving me alone
Swept up by the autumn wind towards the cold unknown.
We walked this path yesterday, yet now it is all new
Summer came, summer went, now autumn has left too
The snow blankets our little world, leaving me alone
Drowning in the winter ice like water swallows a stone.
We walked this path yesterday, yet now it is all new
The leaves blossom with every colour: yellow, red and blue
The nature now returns to me, now I’m not alone
Flying in summer and spring like other birds have flown.

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My World by Anwen G, Year 7 LGGS

My world is changing at a rapid pace.

Through the seasons,

Through the years,

Even through the minutes.

Outside the window,

At my school,

I see the wind blowing,

The trees wavering,

And the leaves falling to the ground,

Ending their lives a little too early.

 

My world is full of change,

Climate change,

People change,

School change,

Season change,

Each day I go through,

A little bit more change,

A little more struggle,

To get through each day.

 

I realise now,

That I could be,

The one the world has been waiting for,

But how to get my little voice heard,

Over the many wonders of this world,

The sweet melody of whale song,

The cheeping of baby birds,

On their first flying outing,

The planet weeping silently as we damage her oceans,

And she is weeping because she is the habitat to us,

Humans.