Jock or Poet?

I am finally sorting through the piles of papers, binders and books that my boys and I brought home from school last year. I put it off for two reasons: it is a very time consuming task and I had stacked all of it in baskets in my office, which made it easy to ignore.

One of the papers I found tonight and salvaged from the garbage bin, is a poem Grant wrote for Humanities class. It was supposed to follow a particular meter, although I don't know which one since it is irregular all the way through. In spite of that, I love this poem, because he wrote it as a memorial soon after Steve's friend, Shawn, lost his brief battle with cancer.

Away, away, away, he went

With the changing of the season

As winter turned to spring he went

And never will return again.

Away, away, away, he went

He will never be forgotten,

Forever loved, forever missed

But never will return again.

Away, away, away, he went

We fear not for his joy in heav'n

For the Lord our God hath promised us

That he will return again.

It's not the work of a Poet Laureate, but it's kinda cool for a barely 14-year-old to express his sentiments in that way.

That, in turn, reminded me of another poem he had written in 5th grade. His assignment was to imitate the style of some Indian poetry they had read. This is what he came up with (with a little help from our friend, Mr. Thesaurus!)

RAIN

I fall, I fall,

I, whose showers bestow plants and crops with life.

I fall, I fall,

I, whose vicious downpour distributes death.

I fall, I fall,

I, whose steady patter lulls infants to sleep.

I fall, I fall,

I, whose gray drizzle evokes melancholy contemplation.

I fall, I fall,

I, whose storms cleanse the air, yet muddy the ground.

I fall, I fall,

I, whose mists make flowers sparkle.

I still think it's beautiful every time I read it. Who says jocks have to be muscle heads? :-)