Tag Archives | St Anne’s CVA Primary School

Who am I?

You  are the sound of the sholer kigs runing owt of the sholer  from a ganger sausage dog crushing the sholer and the car.

You are the smell of the ganger caw and the caw is havin Baby Caws.

What am I?

You are the sownd of a kangaoo jumpin on  the sand big hapy.

wiv his friend.

You are the smell of  my family making me happy.

You are the  taste of nas warm milk to kam you dawn.

You are the memory of Masy playin tig  wiz my.

What are you?

You are as slow as a gentle breeze rolling down a massive hill.
You are a music player but it’s too loud.
You are a snowy city but you freeze like an ice pop.
You are a superfast car but you need some fire boosters.
You are a happy and depressed with the weather.
You are a weird crinkly crisp packet flying away.
You are the end.

What am I?

You are the sound of thunder in the midle of the night, keeping me awake.

You are the smell of pancakes burning,

You are the taste of six woffles.

You are the memory of a bulls dark red eye.

You are the sight of a flickaring light.

You are the feel of a velvety cusion soft under my hand.

You are the smell of fish and chips making me hungry.

You are the sound of a trumpet.

You are the taste of spicy hot sauce.

You are the memory of Autamn leaves changing .

You are seasons changing slowly threw the year.

You are the begening of a babys life.

You are 10 sausage”s sizling in a pan ready to be eaten.

What are you?

You are a massive loud fast elephant trying to get out of a hole raising its trunk for help.

 

You are London on a freezing winter day in all of the snow all the hale hitting all of the cars.

 

You are melted warm choclat bar going onto a pancake in the microwave .

 

You are a light bulb trying to escape the bulb .

 

You are an evil dentist trying to get into a secret room without the nice dentist  seening you.

 

you are the end of my poem.

What are you?

You are a large bean stalk like a plant growing higher and higher.

You are Buxton on a winter day and hale hitting you to the ground.

You are a chipy packet of chips lost in a dark wordrop.

What are you?

You are the memory of a baby crying.

You are an elephants tongue as stiff as a bolt stuck on the wall.

You are a hyena waiting to pounce on its pray.

You are a balloon ready to deflate in the sky.

You are the taste of pancakes on a sunny Sunday morning.

You are a rose that is beautiful like a baby panda or kola.

You are a hailing hail of rain in Buxton that is as fast as a sloth.

You are the glaze of the sun.

You are the lime green Japanese sea on a sunny and warm day.

You are the smell of my mum’s smelly feet when that are not washed for weeks.

You are the taste of an elephant tooth paste. You are distant between your dad who is in bed and you are in Africa.

You are the sound of flours blooming in morocco in the sea side.

You are as slow as a tortoise.

You are a pillow as puffy as a polar bear.

You are a number like a day of the week.

You are the sun.

You are the warmth of radiator.

You are the lemony of a taste.

You are as beautiful as a peacock.

You are a dentist.

You are a simply as a dog on a show day.

You are a kind American.

You are a crowd.

You are brave.

You’re the end of my favourite story.

Who am I?

You are the sound of a tunle with old grusty dust.

You are the smell of the sun shing on thin air .

You are the tast of sweet air snifing in your nose.

You are the memory of my old nanny fealings .

You are the feel of sweet shiver in the air .

You are the sight of trees fling in the air.

You are driping machine driping in thin air.

You are leaping into the open sea.

You are the fish and chips by the salty sea.

You are in the thunder and it is waving in then night.

You are the branch braftin about in the cold drafty wind.

You are the end of the rose.

What am I?

You are of a brass band marching through the town.

You are the smell of a tasty jam doughnut  in a picnic basket.

You are the taste of a chocolate bar in a chocolate factory.

You are the memory of my coisin’s guini pig crunching on a apple.

You are the feel of my mummy holding my hand.

You are the sight of a ballerina dancing across the stage.

You are the end