It was a bright, sunny spring morning. Simone Couch, then nine, was getting ready to go out for a day at Ellison Park with her family and she wrote a poem about it.
Her grandmother submitted the poem, In the Morning, to the Young Writers Poetry Institute of Canada and it was selected to appear in the anthology to be published in the fall.
“We got a letter about it and everyone was so happy,” said Simone. “I’ve always been a bookworm and loved reading. When I wrote the poem, I saw evergreen branches on the ground and was waving them around and that was the first part. Then I saw the clouds and felt the breeze, and that was the second part. I wrote it all down on a little piece of paper and when we got to the park, it was finished.”
Her mother, Lucie Heppner, said Couch is always reading, at breakfast and before bed and anytime in between.
“I think this is wonderful and very encouraging for young writers to have their work recognized. I’m so proud of her. She’s very creative in a lot of ways. She does a lot of filming and she wrote a cheer for her soccer team and she has a binder full of stories and ideas. She definitely has vision,” she said.
Simone, a Grade 5 BX school student, is inspired by nature, by what she reads, watches and observes around her.
“I think I do see things differently. Sometimes when I look at things, I see something else — patterns or designs,” she said.
She is also inspired by her mother, who is a song writer and guitar player and has illustrated one of her stories. She is presently working on two short stories called Farm Girl and Pirate’s Life.
In the Morning
As the sun burst through the branches of the trees,
there was a warm but chilly breeze.
As the trees stretched out their branches,
they overlooked all the houses and ranches.
When the clouds woke up and started to roll by, they said to the great blue sky:
“What a beautiful day”…
and they where right
You simply could not say it any other way.
Soon you could hear all the alarm clocks,
but they where still quiet enough to hear the babbling brook sliding over the rocks.
When the night became old and the morning became young,
you could hear people say “the morning has won.”