When I was seven
We went for a picnic
Up to a magic
Foresty place
I knew there were tigers
Behind every boulder
Though I didn't meet one
Face to face.
When I was older
We went for a picnic
Up to the very same
Place as before
And all of the trees
And the rocks were so little
They couldn't hide tigers
Or me anymore.
I still remember this poem from class two, I can't remember who wrote it though. I looked it up last year but the name was so innocuous I'm convinced it wrote itself.
You know what, it's the tiger imagery that's responsible.
4 comments:
Don't lie. You wrote it yourself, didn't you?
hath. this be pure genius. i never write poetry. *looks convincing*
harry behn... glad i read this post which led me to that name which led me to discovering a new writer i like which i always love
=)
harry behn. thank you.
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