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THE GREATEST DEATH

No one could perceive on that fateful day
What he would do. or what he would say:
Would he emerge full of hate and hell
And would he announce he will no longer rebel ?
Little did they know of the damnation they brought.
Little was their respect for the reason he fought.
And his only crime was his beliefs he taught.
As he walked up the well-used hill.
To him the surroundings seemed stale and still;
They laid him down — they raised him high.
Then the cruelty began to make sure he'd die.
Even when their evil they'd done.
Not a single drop of his blood did run.
Then for me and for all of you
He said, forgive them Father,
For they know not what they do.
CHRIS HARRISON, 1 IB.

SEASONS
In the distance you notice several grey pillars of smoke rising from a
few white mounds. Curiosity aroused, you venture further and discover that
they are houses. All is a sheet of white with the trees casting eerie shadows
upon the frozen white ground. An icy hand grips your heart — you think of
the warm yellow glow of the fire — and hurry home.
The rising sun stretches its golden rays to warm the earth, making the
once pale sheet sparkle like a diamond with a thousand fires inside, giving
off all the delicate shades of the rainbow. Soon, brown patches begin to appear.
The icy blue of the brook turns into a turquoise blue as its reflects the warmth
of the sky.
It rambles along its bed over the pebbles, bringing life to its banks. The
earth dons its splendid robes of bright reds and yellows and all the brilliant
colours that one's mind can conjure up. The trees are once more crowned with
their lush foliage ranging from the deepest to the softest green.
Soon fields are. as if by magic, transformed into a living carpet of white
lily of the valley, gently swinging their bells to some imaginary tune playing
in the soft breeze, violets, azure forget-me-nots, and poppies in all shades of
yellow, pink and red. Amid the unripe wheat, specks of blue can be seen.
These are the cornflowers which gently swing their heads in unison with the
wheat.
Standing under a cherry tree or an apple tree, you are gently sprayed with
its scented pink and white blossoms as they fall to the ground, covering it like
a sheet of snow.
Gradually ripe red apples replace the white blossoms, and burgundy fruit
begins to appear on the cherry trees. The deep pink blossoms fall to the ground
to make way for pink and gold peaches, and red and black berries of all
varieties start to bend the thin branches of the bushes.
The yellow wheat will soon be ready for harvesting. The once-green trees
now display their golden leaves. As you walk through the forest, your cheeks
burn from the crisp, cold air. The wind swirls the withered brown and red
leaves around your feet, at the same time showering you with golden rain from
the trees.

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