Sunday, Dec. 15 at 2pm
Black Box Theatre, Main Street Landing, Burlington, VT
Just Me, The Sled, and the Hill
By Colin Hughes
Age 8
Essex Junction, VT
The hill may be long,
the jump may be high,
my friends may try to stop me --
but they can't!
Nothing can stop me from doing this.
They decide to move out of my way.
I am ready to go down!
There may be bumps, but that won't stop me.
It's just me, the sled, and the hill.
I speed down the hill
Whoooooooosh!
I launch myself into the air
until
THUD.
I lie still
and look at the sky until
faces block the light.
“You okay, man?”
Thumbs up!
Being a Christmas Tree
By Jada Sherman
Age 10
Essex Junction, VT
If I were a tree, I’d stand tall in the corner
waiting to be decorated for the month of December.
Jingle jingle . . . I’d hear a box of ornaments,
and I’d have a BIG smile on my face.
My arms would hold the weight,
as handprints, animals, and memories of
years gone by would be placed among my needles.
Cold would whooosh down my back,
as I drank a big glass of water.
Before bed, the cats would play with my ornaments,
and bat them with their paws,
sometimes jumping into my branches.
Bang — bang — crash!
I would fall to the ground,
until I was helped up,
and redecorated for Christmas Day.
Black Box Theatre, Main Street Landing, Burlington, VT
Just Me, The Sled, and the Hill
By Colin Hughes
Age 8
Essex Junction, VT
The hill may be long,
the jump may be high,
my friends may try to stop me --
but they can't!
Nothing can stop me from doing this.
They decide to move out of my way.
I am ready to go down!
There may be bumps, but that won't stop me.
It's just me, the sled, and the hill.
I speed down the hill
Whoooooooosh!
I launch myself into the air
until
THUD.
I lie still
and look at the sky until
faces block the light.
“You okay, man?”
Thumbs up!
Being a Christmas Tree
By Jada Sherman
Age 10
Essex Junction, VT
If I were a tree, I’d stand tall in the corner
waiting to be decorated for the month of December.
Jingle jingle . . . I’d hear a box of ornaments,
and I’d have a BIG smile on my face.
My arms would hold the weight,
as handprints, animals, and memories of
years gone by would be placed among my needles.
Cold would whooosh down my back,
as I drank a big glass of water.
Before bed, the cats would play with my ornaments,
and bat them with their paws,
sometimes jumping into my branches.
Bang — bang — crash!
I would fall to the ground,
until I was helped up,
and redecorated for Christmas Day.
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