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The sand skims along the earth's dry crevices.
The last of some cattle, that were left behind
are enveloped, lovingly, by the flies -
their fur drapes over their pale bones like crumpled silk.
In the breeze, the dust and sand
interweaves through the thatched huts,
lonely and crumbling.
And the deadly pattern of the cracked bronze earth
crawls up their walls now,
and threatens to dismantle them.
Now - the sun burns more brightly
than the roofs had done.
And the air's quietude, cries,
louder . . . even louder
than the children did,
and it's none the more beautiful.
Within the stillness, the sand and the ash
still circling,
hushes their distressed echoes,
but the breeze breathes it back on its way.
And the place resumes its silence, after its passing.

by Amy Berton (16)
Notre Dame School, Cobham

Competition - The Poetry Trials

Copyright remains with the author.