Cherry Pie in July by Aida Frank
Cherry pie in July,
The sweet delicious tang,
It all comes flooding back
All the way back to that backyard patio.
There it is, that big blue bowl
Full of cherry pulp,
And next to it an old and ancient pitter
All the while my sister keeps up the chitter.
Grandpa made it with such love
You could almost taste it!
It made you feel just like the clouds floating up above
Soft and without a care
Cherry pie in July:
He really did share the love
But now the thought of cherry pie
Brings a bitter memory and a sigh.
Victory by Jack McIlmoyle
I feel it—the rush of wind,
The pitch where I’ve played so many times.
The dream of holding that shining cup—
I can see it now.
Helmet on, head held high,
I walk out to the roar of the crowd.
The pressure clings, it never fades.
I fear defeat, then clear my mind.
My thoughts take over, and suddenly,
I’m in England’s Edgbaston Stadium.
The bowler runs in, the ball flies—
And in a flash,
It’s in my hands. They’re out.
Now it’s my turn to bat.
I stride to the crease,
Adrenaline pumping, hands tight on the handle.
I must do this—for my team,
For my friends, for me.
The bowler charges in,
I swing—And the crowd explodes:
“YES, JACK!”
I glance to the stands,
My parents there, beaming.
I’d hit the winning four.
We’d done it!