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Erin E Esping Feb 2014
On a rainy day
The sun does not shine.
And our hearts usually fall in grief.

We splash in puddles
And get our cloths wet.
Just like the tears that cover our face.

On a rainy day
I try to smile
But no one smiles back.

We don't have fun,
We don't play in the sun.
But does it have to be that way?

I have a group of friends
Who love the rain
And wish it will come everyday.

They smile and laugh
And get each other wet
As if it were a game.

And when the sun shines
They still have a good time
And even when it snows.

So on a rainy day
Don't suffer in pain.
Be happy no matter what kind of way.
Erin E Esping Feb 2014
Scribble, scribble.
Brush, brush.
Art is all around me.

From the decorative stair rails
To the fancy windows.
Art is all around me.

Self portraits of me,
And flowers galore
Cover the house on each floor.

China dolls
And fragile figures
  Cover the walls on shelves.

Pictures of me,
And my good old brother
Cloud the refrigerator door.

Art is all around me.  

What do they mean,
All the picture and frames
That seem to make the house look nice.

For it's not what you see.
But is what your feel.
That makes art matter.

The feeling that comes with what you see
Is the true meaning of art.
Erin E Esping Feb 2014
Give a hug.
Give a kiss.
There are friends all around you.
Nothing can beat
This amazing power.
Not even the darkness of hatred.

Rise up
And be the light.
Like no one has before.
Give a sigh
Of true friendship
And be loved forever more.

This power of friendship is strong
Stronger than anything we know.
Not hatred nor death
Can truly **** this power.

So give a hug.
And give kiss.
For the power of friendship is all around you.
Erin E Esping Feb 2014
Roses are red,
Oceans are blue.
The green grass is soft with truth.
But somewhere out there,
Without a hint of despair,
I sit there in glee
Under the willow tree.

My parents have gone
Somewhere nowhere near.
Yet I shall not shed
A single tear.
I look up in the sky,
And see the birds fly,
Wishing someday to be free.

Roses are red,
Oceans are blue.
The green grass is soft with truth.
But somewhere out there,
Without a hint of despair,
I sit there in glee
Under the willow tree.

Heedless and lean,
I scramble in the weeds.
Playing with the bees,
I wonder what I need,
For I have no greed.
And just for me,
And whom I shall be,
I'll do myself one good deed.

Roses are red,
Skies are blue.
The green leaves are soft with truth.
But somewhere far out,
I do not scream or shout.
For I sit there in glee
Under the willow tree.
About a book I read called Counting by 7s
Erin E Esping Feb 2014
Flying high,
In the sky.
Don't fall down,
For I might die.
I love the sound
That freedom rings,
But I have no clue
What life does bring.

Soaring fast,
Hoping it will last.
The wind blows in my face,
Like a long single lace.
The smell of the flowers,
The green of the grass.
I do not fly in the future
Nor in the past.

No fence blocks me in,
No pole in my way.
Not even the birds,
Stop to say hey.
The felling of freedom
Does not sting the skin.
For it fills me with happiness,
From down within.

Flying high,
In the sky.
Soaring fast,
Hoping it will last.
I love the sound
That freedom rings,
But I have no clue
What life does bring.

— The End —