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Young Writers Share Winter Tales That Will Be Performed

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with audiences through the Newspaper Series (and youngwritersproject.org) and the Schools Project (ywpschools.net).

To be performed Thursday, Dec. 5, 7:30 p.m. The wind nipped my face as I flew down the hill. I’m skiing, I’m skiing! What a thrill!

My parallel skis glided through the snow, making deep tracks in the powder. Go! Go! Go!

I raced past fellow skiers, laughing with glee. Faster! Faster! Ski, ski, ski!

I flew by a skier, and when I saw her face, I knew I had found my competition and we started to race.

We ripped down the hill, the whole time side by side, and when we reached the bottom together, I realized we had tied.

 To be performed Saturday, Dec. 7, 7:30 p.m.

Looking out at the snow-covered ground,

there is so much running through my mind.

And as snow falls silently, I realize

winter is coming without making a sound.

 

Trees are covered in a glistening white;

everything looks peaceful and cold.

I wonder how harsh the winter will be,

and how cold the frost will bite.

 

And as soon as it arrives, I wish for it to leave,

the harsh winter cold that fills the air.

Oh, but the sight, that it can surely spare,

and the holiday feel that fills your home.

 

As I sit here by the warmth of the fire,

looking out at the white unknown,

I think to myself, this isn’t all that bad,

on the inside looking out.

T o be performed Saturday, Dec. 7, 7:30 p.m.

Snow drifting from the sky

Falling on those who walk by

Ten stories down;

Beneath her window.

Shades drawn to conceal

Never opening to reveal

The pale and worn visage

That once was a face.

Winter for her

Has lost all of its allure;

When the first snowflakes fall

She shuts her window.

But forget the fires

That others admire

In other apartments

On other streets,

She lives privately,

Studying the wall attentively;

She never sees the snow

Just outside her window

Because of repeated wishes

And unwashed dishes

Floating in the filthy water

Clogging her sink.

Outside, people walk by,

Free, and happy to defy

The biting cold in warm rooms, just

Across the street from her window,

But she remains hidden,

Always unbidden

In the frigid air

Of her one room.

Making barely enough to pay rent,

She scrabbles with her one cent

To find a way to pay

Her way out of this room with one window.

Winter is not a happy time

For her single last dime

Clinking into the pot

That used to contain gold.

But the cold sucked dry

Everything she had to get by

So now she sits alone and freezing

Staying away from her closed window.

And she wishes she could repent

And not remember how much she was lent

To live in the crumbling hellhole

That she liked to call home.

So she sits quietly,

Shivering, but waiting politely

For the spring to come

And send slanting rays of warmth through her window.

Closed eyes and smiling mouth,

Dreaming of days in the south

When she doesn’t quake and shiver

And everything she wants

Is right outside her window.