teen poetry contest

high-born race
often i think of the beautiful town
a look is but a ray
the earth keeps some vibration going
once this soft turf
along the banks
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
in their ragged regimentals
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
she heard the children playing in the sun
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
let me be sad
let me move slowly through the street