Half Agony, Half Hope

1st Draft (04/11/20)

• The idea behind this poem is a group of young friends supporting each other. It contains themes of mental health, friendship and learning presented through the metaphor of saplings growing into trees.
• The main things I wanted to edit going into the second draft were just general rhythm, making the emotion more explicit in stronger images, and cutting out clichés and unnecessary words and phrases.

2nd Draft (12/11/20):

• For this draft I knew that I didn’t need the third stanza as it was just repeating the second stanza in different phrasing, so I adapted this for the next draft. I also received feedback saying that the final image of the canopy could be built on, so I also worked on that. (there was other feedback but I have mentioned this elsewhere in the blog)

3rd Draft (28/11/20):

• After this draft I felt that the poem was pretty much finished and just needed some finishing touches. The first lines of the final stanza are highlighted because I knew that I wanted to change the phrasing there.
• Going into the final draft, I removed the first line of the second stanza because it felt clichéd and unnecessary, as I think that the information is conveyed in other areas of the poem. I also gave the word ‘withers’ its own line, which I think was a good choice because it breaks up the alliterations so it doesn’t feel too clunky, and also creates a whooshing effect mirroring the water gushing in waves because of the placement of the “w”s.

Final Draft (02/11/20):

Saplings

Six little saplings

Cry, shoulder on shoulder,

Branch-hugs and intertwined roots,

Drawing up water from connected soil. 

One grows taller, 

Steals the sun and casts

Eclipsing shadows

Down on others.

Then he browns.

He burns, bends, breaks,

Withers

With the weight

Of the water;

Wrinkled cracks where 

It forced its way through.

For the others? Enriched soil. 

They climb, a little less sturdy.

The odd leaf crisps up and falls,

Lightly, to the soil beneath. 

Their stalks grow brown streaks,

Every time they hear the crack

of a splitting trunk, the moan

of the creaking roots that try to steady it.

And by watering themselves every day, 

From the soil of the fallen sapling,

They reach an unclouded canopy,

And sway, rustling, in the warmth of the sun.