Enjoy her entry, a poem, below:
He was lying there, blood around him, blood on him, blood in him.
Just plain old him, but not breathing, not moving, not even there.
His rifle lay on his torn, stained red shirt.
His legs were sprawled and twisted like old, shrivelled up branches.
His bright blond hair had been turned brown by the watery mud and his dazzling blue eyes remained open filled with tears.
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1 comment:
I loved your poem Molly, such a good way present your 100WC.
The use of imagery, through using so many adjectives, was really effective as I could picture him in the scene.
Also, the way that you didn't use to word 'red' in the poem at all was clever, but instead you chose to feature a lot of links to this weeks theme.
Hope to read another of your posts soon!
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