Football Unicorn
The Football unicorn hovers high above the sky .observing all below the stadium in Salisbury.
These magical creatures are hiding in the sky’s above.
Where rainbows shine and candy floss clouds the unicorn lays watching.
Seeing is believing.
The Flame Unicorn, which is a shy type of flying horse, is found on volcanoes. Every day, explorers gather and search for this rare creature. During recent lockdown periods, people have been referring to it as the ‘blazing fright’ because because of its burning mane.
Most people think this creature is mythological, but some think not.
However, not much is known about the it.
The Flame Unicorn which lives in the heart of the deadliest volcanoes, swims in the lava and enjoys the sound of bubbling.
The Flame Unicorn is a ferocious beast it as great smoking hooves, a flame tail, lava as it’s blood and a horrible temper.
This is going to be about the magnificent Fortnite unicorn. It has a weird life style like it doesn’t need food or water. It survives by killing players ,which causes it to regain health, it shoots with it’s horn killing the player. Unfortunately it is hard to find only three sighting’s of it.
What are silent? Quiet, calm sleep, relaxing love and a creeping snake.
What are loud? Big drums, ringing bells and a baby crying.
The Irish-nightshade
The Irish-nightshade dances
Like the northern lights
Dancing in the winter months,
Stems sticking up
From the soiled ground
As if it were a tower.
Their purple petals opened,
Revealing a poisonous pollen inside.
Their roots a winding, intricate maze
Of cogs and wheels in a machine.
Fuchsia leaves,
Like a pig
With an amethyst centre
That led on a treasure hunt,
Up the violet veiny stem,
Into the cannon-like style shooting out the
Life ending style.
The Murkwood Tree
The Murkwood Tree leaves sing a song
Of wind as it sways,
Frail twigs hold on by branches
That stick out
Like swords,
Poking unsuspecting victims.
Roots that stretch
Out as far
As the eye can see,
A trunk of tungsten protecting
An iron heart.
The Irish-nightshade
The Irish-nightshade dances
Like the northern lights
Dancing in the winter months,
Stems sticking up
From the soiled ground
As if it were a tower.
Their purple petals opened,
Revealing a poisonous pollen inside.
Their roots a winding, intricate maze
Of cogs and wheels in a machine.
Fuchsia leaves,
Like a pig
With an amethyst centre
That led on a treasure hunt,
Up the violet veiny stem,
Into the cannon-like style shooting out the
Life ending style.
The Murkwood Tree
The Murkwood Tree leaves sing a song
Of wind as it sways,
Frail twigs hold on by branches
That stick out
Like swords,
Poking unsuspecting victims.
Roots that stretch
Out as far
As the eye can see,
A trunk of tungsten protecting
An iron heart.
The Irish-nightshade
The Irish-nightshade dances
Like the northern lights
Dancing in the winter months,
Stems sticking up
From the soiled ground
As if it were a tower.
Their purple petals opened,
Revealing a poisonous pollen inside.
Their roots a winding, intricate maze
Of cogs and wheels in a machine.
Fuchsia leaves,
Like a pig
With an amethyst centre
That led on a treasure hunt,
Up the violet veiny stem,
Into the cannon-like style shooting out the
Life ending style.
The Murkwood Tree
The Murkwood Tree leaves sing a song
Of wind as it sways,
Frail twigs hold on by branches
That stick out
Like swords,
Poking unsuspecting victims.
Roots that stretch
Out as far
As the eye can see,
A trunk of tungsten protecting
An iron heart.
What is cute ?
Puppies playing on the beach splashing.
What is extraordinary ?
Walking on Mars and flying in a spaceship exploring the universe.
What is memorable ?
Flying in a spaceship over the Earth with Neil Armstrong.
What is disgusting ?
Eating alien insects with a fleshy taste.
What is adventurous ?
Walking around Jupiter seven times.
What is hot ?
Swimming in the sun’s core.
War tree roots are like lances protruding into the earth, its leaves howl in the wind and slice armoured solders with ease and the bark is as sharp as rapiers.
On my way home…
On my way home, I met a man named football,
His skin checkered black and white,
And his chanting voice boomed across the field,
And his legs as sturdy as shin pads,
His arms as broad as goal posts,
And his eyes as big as footballs.
On my way home, I met a girl named nothing,
Her eyes were as black as death,
Her skin was black,
Her voice; black,
And as she faded away he whispered, “I am everything.”
On my way home, I met a boy called Rhyme,
He could rhyme all day and rhyme all night, His eyes rhymed with his blue double denim,
His voice rhymed with his face,
And his arms rhymed with his legs,
But he could never make any rhyming friends.
On my way home, I met myself,
My life flashed before my eyes,
My stuffed toys: Ellie the elephant, Josh the Giraffe and Harry the hippo,
Red Sour patch kids and the sound of the ball making contact with someone’s foot,
And the Beano a year,
It all adds up for a perfect childhood.
By ™George Harwood STW
Year 6
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