This is a story of a lad,
I think his name is Bradd.
A unholey woman done a spell,
So Bradd could not tell.
...
</>A dream i something much like a wish
which is much simpler then this
sitting down doing nothing
and then you se something
...
He touched my cheek with his cold fingers,
As i looked into his golden eyes,
I could feel a love rise,
When he pressed his cold lips against mine.
...
As my last leaf fell onto his his hand what was gental
We stay together like Hansel and Gretal,
He was so kind, so cheerful,
He would never make me tearful.
...
I was just an ordainary young girl until someone showed me poems. They showed me how they went and before i knew it I wrote a poem that was unbelievably brilliant! They took me to a poem contest down town i come third place! Now i am a poet! Now i am twelve and alone with me my family friends and my poem/songs. I am not well known in my school the Isle Of Sheppey Academy but on here i am a star. Thank you for noticing me!)
Bradd
This is a story of a lad,
I think his name is Bradd.
A unholey woman done a spell,
So Bradd could not tell.
We never heard or did he spoken,
Otherwise his heart would be broken.
Now he hangs there in shame,
On a picture frame.
That was the story of the lad,
Poor Bradd.