The Seven Chairs By Harris Burdick

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Today, before church the two old bishops lined up quietly. As the tall nun walked down the aisle, a chair glided down making her acquaintance. When she sat down, the chair flew upwards swiftly, not making a sound. As a cloud of rain drifted across the church, the emotionless nun began her journey.

It was a sunny Sunday in the Big Apple. People gathered to church In the tall old church, covered in green vines and moss. After a while a white cloud formed reveling a tall nun.



People pass me on the streets, not even noticing me.
No home, no family to love me.
I’ve lost it all.

But every Christmas I get a bag,
Not just any bag.

A bag made with love from kids who care.

In the bag I get a card, some cookies, A toque, mittens and a tooth brush.

Every Christmas I look to wards receiving another E.D.A.S bag!

Quinn Signing off