My Last Day

by Becky Peyton, 7th Grade

Running, tripping, falling,
voices behind me calling,
thistles tearing at my gown,
and suddenly I’m on the ground.

From the ground protrudes a head.
It must be my friend, three days dead.
I’m trying to beat his sickening fate,
but I might be too late.

Running, tripping, falling,
voices behind me calling,
run, run, I’m not done.
The ending day will soon come.

Whistling winds in the trees,
ominous buzzing of the bees
as the day fades to night
I still run by stars’ first light.

Running, tripping, falling,
voices behind me calling,
hear the wolf cry to the moon
as I run from my doom.

The voices getting closer still
as I run past an abandoned windmill,
then I hear the whistle of a knife,
and I feel the end of my life.

Thirteen years of life,
but no one cries this time.