The bank people leave a stack of papers for our review. We don't understand a word.
"Read it out loud," Father says.
We read it out loud. We still don't understand it, but we hear, from beneath the house, a creaking, and then, as we read the last words, the wail of something starved and lonely. We drop the papers. The wailing stops.
Father decides the youngest one must go down to see what it is. She pales when she hears this, her bright red hair frizzing around her face. "I- I don't-" she stammers. Father points at the back door, and she leaves, her body stiff and her steps weighted.
Snow Hunt (Assignment for CatsOfTheMoonFall) by SnowStormNinja24, literature
Literature
Snow Hunt (Assignment for CatsOfTheMoonFall)
Mosspaw felt a shiver run through her bones as she looked out across the frozen landscape. Okay. The wind tore at her fur like thorns. Brokenstar said that if each cat brings back a couple pieces of prey, we should be good until tomorrow. She drew in a long breath, tasting the air on her tongue. Huh. No prey-scent. Her stomach growled at the thought of food. Maybe this wouldn't be so easy...
The BreezeClan apprentice began to trudge forward, her eyes scanning the snow crust for tracks. Each step sent twinges of cold shooting up and down her legs. She thought longingly of her nest in the apprentices' den, wishing she were still curl
City gates at Christmastime
cloaked in gold and silver vines
icy snowflakes spin and dance
Santa's reindeer soon will prance
Paths spin out from city square
where frosted laughter fills the air
snowplows lick the frozen streets
to clear the way for busy feet
Way up on the rooftops high
owls watch the cars go by
slushy snow and mud kicked up
children squeal and dodge the muck
Sunlight fades as night draws near
the great clock chimes for all to hear
sleepy ones are tucked in bed
dreams of tomorrow safe in their heads
The stars are high, the moon is low
and all the world is full of snow
then, shining bright for all to see
a glow starts by
When You Can't Write a Poem by SnowStormNinja24, literature
Literature
When You Can't Write a Poem
When you can't write a poem
your insides turn gray
your pen shrivels up
you've got nothing to say.
When you can't write a poem
the world seems so bleak
your sorrow is endless
a hill with no peak.
When you can't write a poem
the sun never shines
and the words on the page
simply don't want to rhyme.
When you can't write a poem
remember what's true:
you don't write the poem
the poem writes you.