My beginnings....

You know, writing is quite a new hobby of mine, and today i was searching for the original of a picture im drawing (that i began like 2 years ago hehe) and found an old thing that an english teacher, called Mr. Reynolds, in the beginning of high school made us do. Its a biiiig folder filled with poems from people from my high school generation (not all of em). Its called "The Colors and Textures of Poetry". And i read my poem hehehe. Its not that bad though i know i could improve it a lot. But hey, thats the whole idea of starting, doing things badly. =) So i decided to transcribe it here, maybe youll like it, its from 5 years ago.

The Yard

by Emilio Monge

The yard is like a sea of green.

The beautiful white flowers can bring.

While the crickets their chants sing,

Time passes by, forgetting spring.

Then you get hurt by a little fierce being.

The grass is rocking with the wind;

The flowers are imagining something.

Insects continue flying,

And the yard carries on growing.

The number of lives here is so big,

It could mean hours in naming.

If something gets damaged,

All of them help in repairing.

How they depend on each other is admirable;

The dependency feeling is muh more.

How life a yard enables

Is much more than a place to store.

Patio, garden, or whatever you may call it

Defines a place where everything is life.

Even though not many you can meet,

The yard can be quite nice.