Poem by Anon, Year 9
I was the fire, turning crimson orange, roaring,
I was the river, flowing through valleys, mountains and ending up in the sea.
I was the wind, carving the land.
I was the bird soaring the sky and feeling the protective stare of my ancestors
I was the seabed and many many enslaved Africans lie on my sheet.
I was the light drifting though the open window - the same light seen by billions of others. Free.