look at her…. it’s dark, nearly dinner time and she is writing poetry. The seed was sown by me finding that pad while cleaning out my “inbox” and a pen of the dip in ink kind and we have ink – I was busy so off she went.
Poppies are symbols of war, poppies are sad.
The wind feels like cold fingers on my cheeks
The wind tastes like rain clouds
The wind smells like the early morning mist
Though the second one is not the written down version – the written down version doesn’t involve the fingers, she forgot. The second one may be a song as the recorder come out!
and at her own desk….