Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site


Poetry By: Graeme Montrose
Childrens stories

A Childish Fable

Submitted:Jul 21, 2010    Reads: 60    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   

The sun shone bright, for life was good,
It gave its light to all,
Everywhere there seemed to be,
Joy and happiness!
Yet, as it viewed the lands below,
Something caught its eye.
Far below not all was right,
Sorrow had taken root.
In the old abandoned station,
Where once a railroad thrived,
There stood a broken rusty pipe,
Now useless, old, forgot.
Once it brought the needed life,
To keep the trains on time,
So useful was its life back then,
Unto many brought it joy.
Now forgotten, old, useless,
It died, its spirit crushed.
All around was only death,
The end of all it knew.
The sun it smiled, a thought did come,
The wind did whirl and spin,
Some raindrops fell upon the site,
A miracle took place.
The fresh cool breeze did carry forth,
A seed unseen by eye,
It whirled and danced up in the air,
To land in the rusty pipe.
Slowly now in moist darkness,
Begins its journey long,
Seeking out a source of light,
It starts its fight to live.
Upward, upward, seeking light,
Onward, onward, climbs,
Onward, upward, none can stop,
Towards a speck of light!
Finally, it bursts on through,
Into sunshine, oh so warm,
The brightness is beyond belief,
The warmth, the love it feels!
No longer cramped in narrow tube,
No longer dark or cold,
No longer struggling on and on,
It enters a new world.
A world of freedom, and of light,
Where it can bask in joy,
A world where it unhindered grows,
Where it can now be free!
Now begins its life anew,
Here there is fresh air,
Here it can now blossom bright,
Bring forth its fruit for all!
Pure beauty now did usher forth,
A tree grew from broken pipe,
It blossoms, oh so beautiful,
Its fruit a special one!
From it more seeds did soon come forth,
They struggled to live on,
And by and by the old railroad,
Became a place of awe!
Beauty from the broken shards,
Now began to thrive.
People came from all around,
To see this wondrous sight!
Some locals cleared the rubble off,
They built some swings and such,
Soon young kids did come to play,
Lovers picnicked there.
The 'Station Park' it soon was called,
A place of pride and joy,
The old pipe now the heart of all,
The sun smiled on them all.
Sorrow now had disappeared,
Joy had taken root.
The rusty broken pipe below,
Was filled with love and life!


| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.