Second Place (7 – 11 yrs): Eleanor White, Aged 10, Inkpen Primary School

Winter’s Moon

The mist was rising. I was lost.

There, through the twisted, gnarled trees, I see the moon.

Winter’s moon.

Through the mist, crawling through the forest, reaching out white claws, I can just see its glow.

It’s like a faceless man, a man with no soul.

*

The frost was forming. I was lost.

There, through the cold, misted air, I see a figure.

A twisted figure.

Through the trees, standing tall like mangled corpses, withered fingers reaching out, I can just see his form.

It’s a faceless man, a man with no soul.

*

The snow was falling. I was lost.

There, through the beautiful, delicate flakes, I see him turn.

Slowly turn.

Through the snow, falling gently to the ground, creating eerie shadows, he begins to walk towards me.

I see only a faceless man, a man with no soul.

 *

The clouds were gathering. I was lost.

There, standing before me is him, him with no soul.

No love at all.

Above me, as coldness drops fiercely down, making me shiver uncontrollably, there is a low rumble of thunder.

I pity the faceless man, the man with no soul.

*

He has no family. No one to care.

There, in the moon light, I take his hand, his smooth white hand.

A hand that touched death.

Through the trees we walk arm in arm, and I am no longer lost, no longer alone.

As dawn breaks, golden light blinds me.

When I look again, the sun is rising, and there is no faceless man.

No man with no soul.