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In the summer, leaves whisper woodland secrets into the air,
Filled with aromas of bark,
Above, once snow-topped giants, the mountains are alive,
With birds calling merrily,
Chirping, singing, safely hidden in curtains of green.

Summer sun beats upon people relentlessly,
Forcing beads of sweat down their foreheads,
Just strolling in the park,
The ball of fire in the sky blazes a brilliant amber,
So bright that you cannot admire it for long.

The sweet, almost sickly,
Smell of flowers cuts through a soft scent,
The morning's dewy grass.
Where butterflies, their gaily painted wings are
Like falling petals in the breeze, tremulous, fragile.

Then after a while,
The leaves turn orange,
The floor as well,
It's time for autumn
I'll miss the summer as well.

by Elya Remon (10)
Thomas's Battersea, London

Competition - Out Of This World

Copyright remains with the author.