| Regional Day |
| Date Unknown |
| Awaken to day and the sun doth rise, Remove of my swaddles, I open my eyes. Though my limb's odd sensation, through preperation race, To odd mode of transport at speed of high pace. Quick arrive at destination, which quickly we leave, To this place stay for hours, our hard work's relieve. Adjust to new faces, new places to go, With slides and lights violet, with peers to follow. To this bustling viscinity we quickly adjust, Within elevator cubicle, small pled orange crust. But adventure concluded, back to familiar place, Onward with life's story, and it's never-ending race. |
| Notes: This poem is about the day I went to choir regionals. I had to wake up early with the sunrise, and my arm was dead asleep. I had to rush to get ready and out the door to my ugly, old car, and drive as fast as I could to school. We quickly left and arrived at the university, where I explored and found this area where the ground sloped down steeply, like a slide, and the lights on the ceiling were purple for some odd reason. I met this guy who lead me around and showed me all his friends and everything. The place was packed and bustling with activity, so I sought solitude within the elevator, where there was a pile of orange crusts on the floor in one of the corners. Finally we went home, and that was the story of regional day. |
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