The Poetry Pages

A poor old gardener softly said
My day is almost done
I've got chilblains in both my knees
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My buckets of water, caught in the rain,
have shrunk to the size of chimney pots
and my shovel and my rake
have come out in chicken pox.
But never forget, to never be dim,
I'm awfully happy for the shape I'm in.

Poem by Miriam Pass Aged 11

Copyright The Bentilean 1999

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