Text Box: Yuch-hsun Lo Grade 12 Meridian School, Provo Matthew Kennington, Teacher First Place, Division E   Until You Notice Me   I will be the leaf—             on your tree I will change—                         my clothes for you When you are happy—                         I will wear green and sing you—                         endless—                                     round.   I will cover for you. I will take the heat.   And when things cool off I will hang out with you watching the sun  go down feeding you sweet talk and swapping sap.   And when you grow bored I will put on something bright; I will babble and jabber and natter and prate and rattle to make you laugh.   And if one day I talk my head off— if I die of your love— I will go down happy turning back to see you a dozen times down.   Where I land I will lie and look at you a long, long time until you wake— until you open your arms and stretch   until you notice me   Text Box: Yuch-hsun Lo Grade 12 Meridian School, Provo Matthew Kennington, Teacher First Place, Division E   Until You Notice Me   I will be the leaf—             on your tree I will change—                         my clothes for you When you are happy—                         I will wear green and sing you—                         endless—                                     round.   I will cover for you. I will take the heat.   And when things cool off I will hang out with you watching the sun  go down feeding you sweet talk and swapping sap.   And when you grow bored I will put on something bright; I will babble and jabber and natter and prate and rattle to make you laugh.   And if one day I talk my head off— if I die of your love— I will go down happy turning back to see you a dozen times down.   Where I land I will lie and look at you a long, long time until you wake— until you open your arms and stretch   until you notice meText Box: Katie Sue Clark Grade 12 Woods Cross High School, Woods Cross Virginia Riley, Teacher Third Place, Division E   The Moment Between   Before the sun streaks Streaming its golden rays of light from the east To vibrate the earth with its shining glory There comes a moment   Only after the dark night has fled When the shadows of mystery scatter When  the stars have finally dissolved into the sky There comes a moment   This is the point of perfection Linking the ambushing sun and bitter night It is the humble moment between   The moment when quiet stillness whispers over the land And mist, hovers above the glassy ground Giving the morn a fresh coolness to inhale Frost gently sparkles, as it blankets over the pasture forever   Nothing can touch the moment When the earth is caught in a soft slumber The desperate trees silhouette against the lifeless horizon It comes and it goes   The moment that brings a song of tender solitude As hopeful ambitions wait to break at the first scene of light Yet an assurance of comforting peace presides At this, there is a moment   The priceless moment between   Text Box: Katie Sue Clark Grade 12 Woods Cross High School, Woods Cross Virginia Riley, Teacher Third Place, Division E   The Moment Between   Before the sun streaks Streaming its golden rays of light from the east To vibrate the earth with its shining glory There comes a moment   Only after the dark night has fled When the shadows of mystery scatter When  the stars have finally dissolved into the sky There comes a moment   This is the point of perfection Linking the ambushing sun and bitter night It is the humble moment between   The moment when quiet stillness whispers over the land And mist, hovers above the glassy ground Giving the morn a fresh coolness to inhale Frost gently sparkles, as it blankets over the pasture forever   Nothing can touch the moment When the earth is caught in a soft slumber The desperate trees silhouette against the lifeless horizon It comes and it goes   The moment that brings a song of tender solitude As hopeful ambitions wait to break at the first scene of light Yet an assurance of comforting peace presides At this, there is a moment   The priceless moment between  Text Box: Wen Lei Grade 12 Meridian School, Provo Matthew Kennington, Teacher C. Cameron Johns   Tea Dream   In Taiwan's winter night when the air is wet enough to wash light, cold enough to freeze time; when the hour is late and the house breathes with my little brother and sister sleeping in the next room; I hear the familiar footsteps from the hall, the clear melody of three golden bracelets. My mother opens the door with a cup of hot green tea. She slips the saucer next to my left hand, turns the handle towards me.   "It's late, shouldn't you go to bed?" "After I finish this chapter," I say.   She lies on my bed, so that when I finish my homework, my cotton sheets will be warm. She falls asleep. I poke her leg hard enough to leave a white circle— gently enough to be part of her dream. When she wakes up, she will watch me cocoon myself in blankets. She will wait until I close my eyes and she will turn off the light.   On an American winter night, dry-ice air settling around my ankles, I study late, a cup of orange juice on my table. If I go to bed now, it will be cold— and when I wake up tomorrow the light will still be on.     Text Box: Wen Lei Grade 12 Meridian School, Provo Matthew Kennington, Teacher C. Cameron Johns   Tea Dream   In Taiwan's winter night when the air is wet enough to wash light, cold enough to freeze time; when the hour is late and the house breathes with my little brother and sister sleeping in the next room; I hear the familiar footsteps from the hall, the clear melody of three golden bracelets. My mother opens the door with a cup of hot green tea. She slips the saucer next to my left hand, turns the handle towards me.   "It's late, shouldn't you go to bed?" "After I finish this chapter," I say.   She lies on my bed, so that when I finish my homework, my cotton sheets will be warm. She falls asleep. I poke her leg hard enough to leave a white circle— gently enough to be part of her dream. When she wakes up, she will watch me cocoon myself in blankets. She will wait until I close my eyes and she will turn off the light.   On an American winter night, dry-ice air settling around my ankles, I study late, a cup of orange juice on my table. If I go to bed now, it will be cold— and when I wake up tomorrow the light will still be on.  Text Box: Austin Ellis Grade 9 Mt. Jordan Middle School, Sandy Ann M. Cahoon, Teacher Third Place, Division D   All That Has Been   The air is crisp, musky, Dry cracked leaves blow in the wind A solitary tree Stands forlorn Its bark withered from times past Its very essence Caked with its account Of its surroundings A superhighway of information Unable to be tapped Its expiration is shortly approaching A vault To be forgotten in time Yet one out there Does not forget All the things That have been And those that have not           Text Box: Austin Ellis Grade 9 Mt. Jordan Middle School, Sandy Ann M. Cahoon, Teacher Third Place, Division D   All That Has Been   The air is crisp, musky, Dry cracked leaves blow in the wind A solitary tree Stands forlorn Its bark withered from times past Its very essence Caked with its account Of its surroundings A superhighway of information Unable to be tapped Its expiration is shortly approaching A vault To be forgotten in time Yet one out there Does not forget All the things That have been And those that have not          Text Box: Hyuna Kim Grade 11 Meridian School, Provo Matthew Kennington, Teacher Second Place, Division E   Mother Moon   I am three, and my mother is driving the car at night.  I sit in the silent back seat falling in and out of sleep but every time I surface I see a silver eye staring at me. It is the moon. Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours, and still she is there, a spot on my window, so close I could hold her in my cupped hands and not spill.   "Mother," I say, "why does the moon follow me?" "Because she loves you."   I am five, and my mother is lying beside me in my small bed in the awful dark. "Sleep well, my baby," she sings in Korean; "don't cry, you rooster or my baby might wake." But I am only half listening to the surface of my mother's silver voice.   After she leaves, the moon outside goes on humming the rest of her song.   Text Box: Hyuna Kim Grade 11 Meridian School, Provo Matthew Kennington, Teacher Second Place, Division E   Mother Moon   I am three, and my mother is driving the car at night.  I sit in the silent back seat falling in and out of sleep but every time I surface I see a silver eye staring at me. It is the moon. Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours, and still she is there, a spot on my window, so close I could hold her in my cupped hands and not spill.   "Mother," I say, "why does the moon follow me?" "Because she loves you."   I am five, and my mother is lying beside me in my small bed in the awful dark. "Sleep well, my baby," she sings in Korean; "don't cry, you rooster or my baby might wake." But I am only half listening to the surface of my mother's silver voice.   After she leaves, the moon outside goes on humming the rest of her song.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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