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Young Writers Society


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You should check for any Miss Spellings.
While you ponder this, enjoy a poem:


Heat (1947)
by Hilda Doolittle

O wind, rend open the heat,

cut apart the heat,

rend it to tatters.



Fruit cannot drop

through this thick air--

fruit cannot fall into heat

that presses up and blunts

the points of pears

and rounds the grapes.



Cut the heat--

plough through it,

turning it on either side

of your path.



I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.
— Markus Zusak, The Book Thief