I'm Issy.
I'm 14 and an aspiring artist and author.
Black Lives matter.
Bi puns
Murder mystery TV shows
Shakespeare poetry
I can't even be bothered writing them all down
Have a nice day

Message from Writer

Remember to write even if you think you are bad at it, you're not

Wombat Forest

June 25, 2020


Their house is wooden
It's veranda warmed 
By the morning light 
The bush creatures torn
To stay or take flight 
In this forest they call bush
The eucalyptus trees
Where kookaburras laugh 
At tilly's pleas 
To see the forest 
Not just some trees 
Like the old red plum
We sit under; at ease
Sit at the picnic table
Covered in moss
And in the crisp morning air 
I sketch something 
Not very well done
But who'm I to care 
The smell of freshly baked bread 
Carries on morning air
And inside we troop 
For bread by the fire
So come the kangaroos 
Outside the window
As soon a we're gone 
They're laughing at us
Of this I am sure
But now we can't go back there
Not any more
For the danger it places
Is much, much to high
So we can only remember 
And sigh a sad sigh
This poem is about my great aunt and uncle's house. Because of their age they are in the at-risk category, so we might not be able to visit them for quite a while. They live out in wombat forest, and their garden is really beautiful, I really like going there. There are also lots of animals around their place.


See History
  • June 25, 2020 - 7:16pm (Now Viewing)

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