A poem I made using the words from page 46 of Mr. Pip by Lloyd Jones, for english class.
We embraced the tall sunlight and the earthy smell of laughter, which ripped open the greed and the reminder of our fear and loss.
Black’s bush tracks, its life, its home, was not constant, it stood in rags. The small smell of blood and its shape discovered their importance.
The book, and the forge were giant things, joking teasing us into noises. Sometimes they ran away from the unimportant sun, the fish, the nuts.
The night’s nostrils saw our delight, our ripe belly, our women and our girl; which were washing in the streams, the mountain’s latrines.
By the sea, secretly, trees compared fruits. The eager sun understood.