*Through a third party's perspective*
He ran home watching his back
Holding his knife in a death grip
He tiptoed around his father and trying not to make any twigs crack
He tiptoed around his father and tried not to trip
Up to his room he went
Through the window and time he spent
In that very room waiting for a bell
And to that room he said farewell
He could never tell his father the secret he learned
And if he wrote it down, that paper would have to be burned
For Sophie's sake, he'd keep his mouth shut
To keep her from ever being treated like a mutt
YOU ARE READING
The Chrysalids Poems
PoetryThis is a school project i decided to put on here. For every chapter of The Chrysailds (there are 17 of them) i will write a poem. I hope you enjoy and if you haven't read The Chrysailds by John Wyndham there are going to be spoilers. I recommend...
