Dillon

[|Divorce]

The killer of families The resolver of problems Children left wondering Parents left wondering Why? Mother, Fathers, Children once so happy Faded away The love is still grand But the faith and joy is destroyed


 * I AM By Dillon**


 * I AM …Buzz Lightyear**
 * I WONDER …if i will ever find my ship**
 * I HEAR …the static of my radio**
 * I SEE …a giant place**
 * I WORRY …about the creatures here**
 * I WANT …to be able to leave**


 * I PRETEND ...to be the best**
 * I FEEL …the scariness of this mission**
 * I TOUCH …my suit**
 * I WORRY …about getting out of here**
 * I CRY …what? I don't cry**
 * I AM …Buzz Lightyear **


 * I UNDERSTAND …the forces of space**
 * I SAY …Infinity and beyond **
 * I DREAM …about home**
 * I HOPE …to survive**
 * I AM …BUZZ LIGHTYEAR**

Baseball By Dillon

Here is a pattern for you to follow: The day I started to play baseball I remember like it was life I loved it with all my might I wanted to be a great player

I remember like it was life I was scared for the first game I wanted to be a great player There it was always in my mind

I was scared for the first game I always wanted to win There it was always in my mind We were good

I always wanted to win I loved it with all my might We were good The day I started to play baseball

By [|__Robert Frost__] My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there's a barrel that I didn't fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight I got from looking through a pane of glass I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough And held against the world of hoary grass. It melted, and I let it fall and break. But I was well Upon my way to sleep before it fell, And I could tell What form my dreaming was about to take. Magnified apples appear and disappear, Stem end and blossom end, And every fleck of russet showing clear. My instep arch not only keeps the ache, It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round. I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend. And I keep hearing from the cellar bin The rumbling sound Of load on load of apples coming in. For I have had too much Of apple-picking: I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired. There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall. For all That struck the earth, No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble, Went surely to the cider-apple heap As of no worth. One can see what will trouble This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is. Were he not gone, The woodchuck could say whether it's like his Long sleep, as I describe its coming on, Or just some human sleep.
 * After Apple-Picking**