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This is my own literacy narrative. Starting with myself, a young boy loathing of the nefarious nature of reading, and ending with true love.
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A brandishing of sheath,a cascading of teeth,do the blades come thrashing down.A jump and safe again,but for now the attack comes,swiftly.I see in his..
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A fluttering of wings, oh how they shine.Her eyes, approaching the light that now streams,a river mounting its torrent.A bluish of glean, how ever so ..
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A clinging of sugared dusting,the glittered craft of frost.The quiet clatter of deathly fallen,where it has been lost.It falls away, giving in its str..
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Next the shelves.Two dozen, maybe three spaced upon the underground chamber. Gregory tried to count; one, two, three. No hundreds upon thousands of bo..
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With only but a strike and then a light.But there must be more!A stroke and then an array of colors,blue, green, oh what a nice sheen.In the land, a c..
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The tent, its red ripe of apple,so cold, yet dark as a pipe.A bewilderment at the sight,and let the show begin!One by one, frights, long nights, freak..
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Gregory skipped along making sure to not go too long. But he caught it! There a guy! he thought. A man standing down the street was edged holding the..
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At the young age of eight years old, Gregory Mathewson was in utter admiration with books, but stories to be exact. Ah, what an age! What a time to e..
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It goes without saying, but I will
say it anyway. You should never let your children roam around in the dark, in a
neighborhood in which they do not..
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