by Maxwell Dobbs
Every shape must seem to utter one,
And from there forms crackling of a number bone.
Every size seems to have a very dire need to
Start somewhere and onwards go.
But what is one and why does it work?
Well, we’ll start by popping out the cork.
First, one may not be the start,
Anything can cause time to roar.
There may not be a beginning;
There may not be an ending;
What matters is some things must end.
This poem, for example, will soon end it’s short lived scend,
But don’t worry, so many more will echo outside of the womb;
People will show starts and end, moving sounds with a comb.
Art by Charlie Young, Grade 8