- The Washington Times - Friday, April 27, 2007

Secret Box

By Sophia DonVito, age 9

In my secret box, I would place

The last path of snow, forgotten

on a summer’s day,

A drop of sunlight, illuminat-

ing a cloudy day,

The last breath of wind, signal-

ing the end of a tornado,

The sound of a golden leaf,

fluttering to the ground.

In my secret box, I would lay

A drop of water, dripping off a

melting snowman,

A single hair, fallen off a mid-

night black cat,

The sound of the salty waves,

crashing on the cloudy gray


The click-clack of bony fin-

gers, whizzing across an an-

cient typewriter,

The cold chill of small flakes of

snow blowing across a silver

ice rink.

In my secret box, I would put

The dirty sight of London fog,

blocking all the sights,

The rustling of the creamy-

white pages, as the readers

are sucked into its world,

The aroma of a rich chocolate

cake, baking in a flaming oven,

The first ear-splitting wail of a

newborn life,

The beautiful sight of the

world covered in a snow-

white blanket, welcoming winter.

In my secret box, I would place

A single golden hair from a

snow-white unicorn’s

magical mane,

A Russian fur coat, to be worn

on a chilled winter’s eve,

A magical alicorn cup, fit for a

thousand kings,

The scent of spring greeting

new flowers.

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