At the top of tomorrow waits for the future that we will soon call the good old days.
The hiding place of rain shivers underneath the turtle’s shell.
The antonym of pink is showers, no love.
If you look underneath peace, you might hear nothingness.
When you toss sadness to the wind, it returns in an owl’s eye.
At the center of boredom is an anonymous thrill.
The rock bottom of October will never await for the never ending string.
When you tiptoe through the Valley of Happiness, you might find a reflection.
By Katie Walker