What’s in a Face?

[Author’s note:  I just found this piece, written as part of an assignment I had in 4th grade, in my garage. I had to re-read it. It went with a sort of art project, where we had to draw the other half of a half-face that was given to us, a half-photo cut out of a magazine. The poem was written in pencil, in my early, careful, cursive writing double spaced on a yellow piece of binder paper and mounted on a long-since faded piece of construction paper, now light gray, which I believe was once a good solid darkish blue. Certainly, my work has evolved since then, but I do have to say I like this poem]

What’s in a face?
Is there a trace
Of how they might feel
Or if they might squeal?
A face with closed eyes
Just might never rise
Unless you do shake it,
Quite possibly wake it.
If a face is all wet
I bet you can bet
That this face feels bad,
This emotion’s called sad.
When eyebrows are slanted
It isn’t so good
As this tale has chanted
Angry? This face? Yes it could.

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