When We Were Very Young

When we're young poetry can pour out of us as naturally as water bubbling up from a mountain spring. It certainly did as far as I was concerned. I've written before about my own adolescent efforts. I've just come across in my files (well, actually in an old cardboard box) some early poems written by my children. Children's poems are so wonderfully fresh, imaginative and direct. They just take your breath away. These 2 poems were written by my daughter Anna when she wasn't yet into her teens.

The Tree

How it stands there,
Tall and bare.
Bark and touches of leaves to spare.

The weepingwillow leans ahead.
A dead tall tree.

Rustles of leaves,
Touches of bark.
How it stands there.
Tall but dark.

Just Suppose Their Was No More Books

Just suppose their was no more books..........
No more intellectuals, no more libraries,
No more bookshelfs, no more Fridays,

No more authors, no more secret places,
No more Enid Blyton, no more smiley faces,

No more scares, no more learning,
No more bookshops, no more squirming,

No more Alice, no more Kelly,
No more Crusoe,

But best of all lots more telly!

I'm completely blown away rereading these for the 1st time in many, many years...