by Abigail Crosby
Throughout the storm the sea would rise and fall,
To knock and plunder against the waning shore.
And with the cutting wind, the rain would scrawl
Those dashed and hurried carvings, which came through the roar,
Ingrained in the surface of that still stone:
The swirling, arching figures stuck there now;
Until the end of time they will be shown,
Where the storm on the sea cut like a plow.
And like that fearsome storm, life will carve, cut,
Engrave, and stay, changing us throughout time;
The failures will sting like the wind, slamming shut
Each old door, the ongoing clock would chime.
Yet, not each storm would devastate, some could,
Others won’t, but through each storm, still the sea stood.
Abigail Crosby is currently a junior at Urbana High School and is enrolled in the International Baccalaureate Diploma Programme. In school, she is very interested in history and english. Abigail is also a dancer and mainly does ballet, contemporary, and jazz. In addition to this, she teaches dance to the younger children at her studio.