Hello, my name is Sofia and I am delighted to have been chosen as the first ever Poet Laureate in Bolton School Girls’ Division, following the National Poetry Day competition, which was organised and judged by the English Department. As part of my new role, I will be writing poems for different events, seasons and occasions throughout the school year. As we approach the Christmas holidays, I would like to take some time to share my most recent project with you, a poem that I have written for the winter season entitled ‘The Christmas Star’. I do hope you enjoy reading my poem and that it brings you a sense of hope, joy and comfort during this special time of the year.
Sofia Macari, year 12.
The Christmas Star
I said goodbye to the Sun some time ago,
He said he had gone to sleep,
His land was replaced by a certain darkness,
His warmth had been hard to keep.
The leaves began to turn,
A sort of ruby and amber hue,
Until all at once they fell from their branches,
Through the fading landscape they flew.
Mr Frost was at work one night,
His icy touch had felt the ground,
Now all at once the world was quiet,
There was not a whisper, nor a sound.
The days trudged on and on,
The world had gone to sleep,
I longed to see the Sun again,
His warmth was ever harder to keep.
I sat back in my armchair,
The land was stark and still,
The wind howled and whipped its way into my home,
And engulfed my heart with an unforgiving chill.
Knock.
Sat in my armchair I straightened up,
My eyes darted to the door.
Knock.
I inched my way into the hallway,
My feet groaned at the bitter cold of the floor.
Knock.
I opened the door to a peculiar sight,
A little boy stood huddled in the porch,
He smiled and laughed and held out his hand,
And in his other, he held a torch.
“Follow me,” the little boy said,
So I did just that,
I pulled on my coat,
And placed on top of my head a warm, woolly hat.
Although the ground was adorned in a cloak of ice,
The spirit of the town was aglow,
A little finger pointed into the distance,
What I saw was a spectacle, a dazzling kind of show.
A towering green figure stood proudly,
Its emerald branches glowed under pockets of light,
Everybody scrambled to fill these with tinsel and baubles,
A sort of friendly and festive fight.
Once the tree was decorated,
We stood back and gazed at our work with pride,
The little boy inched towards me,
A mischievous lightness in his stride.
His hand was outstretched, a star in his grasp,
Shining brightly, twinkling with light,
“I wanted to bring you some hope,” the boy said,
“And I thought the joy of Christmas might.”
