There I lie in the cold sweet snow.
I hear a calming whisper.
It is the voice I used to know,
My mother’s gentle tone –
Then, an inner warmth
Like my father’s touch
Reminds me of when he was near
But he is gone.
As I lie longer in the soft snow
Looking at the midnight sky
Thinking about the world,
The memories fade away
Like a fire turning to ashes
Like a picture fading in a frame.
The snow no longer feels sweet,
No longer a place for snow angels.
It feels cold.
--Jordan Romain (Grade 9)
Finding an Agent & Approaching Artist Residencies - Writer and public relations expert Lora Hyler shares her personal journey in querying, searching for an agent, and the importance of attending writer res...