jude rodda The Brisk Day

[The Brisk Day]

jude rodda

The brisk day starts With me getting up From bed with a shiver. As I walk to school The smell of apple cider Being made with freshly picked apples Fills the air. I look at the ground To see hundreds of thousands Of little leaves Adorned the ground Like ornaments on a tree Red, orange, and even yellow. A brisk gust Wells past my hand. A cold red nose worn by My face so covered By my mask As I near my bus stop