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Melted

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It is wired how I go to write about a certain thing and then all of a sudden I am writing about something that is not even related. In the case of my newest poem "Melted" I was going to write about eyes and instead I started writing about snow and sunshine. My goal with this poem was to write something that I felt sure of. So that when my editor went to edit it she didn't have anything to really edit. I accomplished my goal and it made me feel supper good inside. Just knowing that I can accomplish anything I set my mind too. 
Melted On a cold, crisp December morn, Right after the first snow storm.   The sun let down her elegant streams;  As the snow looked up to see her bright beams.  Then there fell in love with her first light;  So there she stood to make things bright.  While she stood there shinning in all of the gray;
The snow ever slowly melted away.
By Evelyn Creon 

Hidden treasure

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Hidden treasureDeep beneath the surface, Out of sight to all; Lays a hidden treasure, Kept behind a wall.
Its been hidden for so long, Most cannot recall, But the one that holds it In his hidden stall. 
Those who knew of it Have tries without success, To search for the lost treasure In the wilderness.
But where it lies unearthed, The owner always knows. Will do all within his power, To never let it go. 
This treasure hidden deep, Will by one, be found, But not until the inside walls One has broken down.
The walls, they keep it safe From the pain of love; Or from the biting wound, Which its loss can prove.
The one who finds the treasure Must hold it safe forever; Or the treasures owner Will be his displeasure. by Evelyn Creon

The wind

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I have only read a handful of poems of the wind. And they are simply gorgeous and soothing. I wanted to try my hand at writing one.


The wind We hear the wind each night and day; But see it not, nor whence it came It leaves so softly, suddenly. Try you might, but can not contain. We enjoy it in the summer; Shake and shiver in December. It may come as a gentle breeze Or in some sharp and stormy ways. The wind's a mystery, we know: Of whence it came or where it goes.   By Evelyn Creon

Big Foot

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Big FootBig foot big foot Creeps through the woods Hiding in the scariest places. Nobody knows he's real Except for the foot prints he leaves.
Big foot big foot Creeps through the woods Trying it's hardest not to be seen People claim they have seen him But is it true? We have no proof.
Big foot big foot Is he really there or Is it an allusion That someone keeps playing on us.
Big foot big foot Is there such animal? We have so little proof That he is there.  But it might just be he's alive how are we to know? There are so many questions with No answers. Will we ever find the answers To them all or just a few? By Evelyn Creon

Waiting

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As I sit here in this chair, waiting for a thought to cross my mind. I feel like I could fly across my own little made up world. When a thought comes I write it down so not to lose it with others lost before.

Billiard Players

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Billiard Players I'm told that my father was a billiard player. The best one in the town. But I have never seen him play in all. The years I've been around.
The story goes he played like a wild cat. And won each and every game. He was so good that no one. dared steal his fame.
When ever a stranger came to our town. A ruckus always began. The stranger then would invite my father. To come and play around.
I was told, along came a gal; That no one in the town did know. She challenged him to a game of pool. And one the very first round.
Now my father was no loser; So he bet with his life. He'd "Beat her before he died", he said. But not the way every one thought.
He kicked up his heels, and exclaimed.  While the rest of the town was in shock. Well I guess I'm beat and so,  I'm forced to tie the knot. 
Every person in town understood him now. The prophesy had came true.  The gal had come and, challenged the master and won. So he'd wed her and start something knew.
Some how I never lea…

The song of the woods

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Smoothly, the crisp clean wind moves quietly through the trees, making the leaves rustle.
While the the nightingale sings its favorite song and the call of the owl sweeps through the air to catch his dinners no far away in the distance you can faintly hear the howl of the wolf as he tells his story to the moon. With all these lovely songs that the wooded lands sing at dusk, with a wave of light it all hits the ground at the crack of daylight.

Naught But Soot

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Naught but soot Far away in the moon light, Faintly, could you see A flicker of a fire In midst of everything.
Dimly lit, it stood there. Dying slowly down; Flooded in such colors As the break of dawn.
How far way it seemed, Fairly close 'twas it; As it slowly faded; leaving naught but soot.