Children's writing

Food
Fancy food crackers and prawns and chives.
Diced food cut with knives.
Fast food pizza and hotdogs.
Horrible food snail and legs of a frog.
Italian food spaghetti and dolmio sauce.
French food they eat horse!
Japanese food sushi and dogs.
Christmas food turkey and chocolate logs.
Sea food octopus and squid.
So sit down and open the dish lid.

By Rachael Inch.
Age 10

Food
Delicious food, hope it's for tea.
Tasty food, all for me.
Disgusting food, only for money.
Horrible food, frogs legs and honey.
Strange food, cookies covered in ham.
Sweet food, toast and jam.
Nice food, in my belly.
Snack food, when I watch telly.

By Stephanie Scally
Age 9

An icy wind blew down the mountain. The night was dark and gloomy. The atmosphere was silent except for the whispering of the wind. The boy lay motionless on the small ledge jutting out from the mountain. He was covered in snow. Below him lay a deep gorge. "Help!" he cried weakly. "Help".

"Last night a boy fell from a mountain whilst he was climbing with friends. He is stranded on a ledge and unconscious. Richard Straton, the boy's father wants the air rescue to see if he can be found. Finally the weather for today. In the north it ...". Jack Hopper turned off the radio. He sat back in his chair and thought. He had been assigned to rescue the boy, but he wasn't sure where exactly he was. With a sigh the tall man got to his feetand went outside. The sun shone brightly but the air was cold. Jack was quite a large man with muscles as hard as rock. He rarely smiled and his face had many creases and lines in it. He collected a rope, a flask of water and his backpack and got ready for action.

The writer of this poem,
Has sharp blue eyes to see.
Things so far away,
Like blossom on a tree.

The writer of this poem,
Has white and yellow hair,
The color of her skin,
Is white and very fair.

The writer of this poem,
Has very pointed toes,
And up upon her face,
Quite a long nose.

The writer of this poem,
Has teeth shining white,
Although they've had 3 fillings,
They should be alright.

The writer of this poem,
Can stand upon her head,
Her blood goes to her brain,
''This makes me feel quite dead.''