by Eliana Lambros, Age 11
Step aboard the little dock.
Faded planks strapped together.
Sometimes when you lay there,
the sun sinking,
pressing on your back,
you drift.
Drift to the important things.
Things that really matter.
You roll them around in your head,
picking them apart piece by piece.
Then, when you stand up,
sometimes you can feel the worries
roll off you into the water.
They drift away.
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