Poet

Friday, D stayed at my parents’ place and he asked for some particular songs but my mum didn’t know the words, so they made up new words. She told him making up words is what poets do and maybe he could be a poet when he grew up.

The next night, putting him to bed, D said he wanted to be a puhwat when he was a grown up as his job. I thought he was saying “pirate”, having not heard the poet discussion, but he set me right, then told me he’d made a poem:

I am growing, I am growing

All the time, all the time

When we go to Nana’s house, when we go to Nana’s house

Everything is fine, everything is fine

 

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