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“I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree…”
I think that I shall never write a poem … Samantha groaned! Why did her teacher decide that they all needed to write poems about trees
She gazed up at the tree and thought how she would much rather be in it than writing about it.
A Southern Belle I’ll never be, just let me climb a tree.
Hoop skirts, and tea parties are not for me. Let me run barefoot in the grass and catch a slimy frog. Let the worms slide through my fingers.
Let me roll down a grassy hill in a pair of jeans … designed with grass stains, for a Southern belle I will never be!
Sighing Samantha rolled a mud pie between her hands, as her pen and notebook laid by the tree.
“I think that i shall never see…” The words kept going through her head. Throwing the mud pie to the side, she screamed into the sky, “I’ll never write a poem about a tree! Writing is just not me.”
Let me wade in the creek with the water covering my feet. There were crawldaddy’s to catch and water to splash. Tire swings to swing from, as one jumps into the creek with glee! Who wanted to waste time trying to write a poem about a tree?
She smiled slyly, looking at the tree. Pulling herself up onto the first branch was as easy as could be. Stretching to the second branch she managed to do as well. The third branch was a little higher, but the gleam in her eye shone bright as she stretched to reach.
RIP!! Her dress tore, but she only had a little more to go and she stretched again.
A Southern belle I’ll never be, for I’ll never be as happy as I am when climbing a tree!