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Please Mrs ButlerThis boy Derek DrewKeeps copying my work, Miss.What shall I do?
How many books have you written?Have you been writing for years?Where do you get all the paper?Where do you get your ideas?
I opened a bookand a hand fell out.I turned a pageand heard a shout:'I'm lost in a wood;my mother's no good.'I couldn't bear to look
When Raymond Gough joined our classHe was almost a year behind.'Sanatorium', said Mrs McBride'So I want you all to be kind.'
Thomas Farynor, Baker to the King,Left his oven burning with the firewood nearby.The embers muttered, the little flames took wing
Teach me the language of Cat;the slow-motion blink, that crystal stare,a tight-lipped purr and a wide-mouthed hiss.Let me walk with a saunter, nose in the air.
It is midnight in the ice rinkAnd all is cool and still.Darkness seems to hold its breathNothing moves, until
We finished with a song on the football pitchSinging all along on the football pitch Had a little sing with a sing-song-singHad a little fling with a ding-dong-ding
The seagulls think we live at the seaside:the tower blocks are their cliffs;they swoop for fish in the gutterbut are happy that it's last night's fried rice.
Walking out the school door,
didn't come to stay,
didn't mean to talk, but
did it anyway.
My friend Jace, beside me,
walking to my beat,