Greenacre 9
Where anything can happen and probably will
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Category: Poetry
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Granddaughter (age 7): I don’t like meat. Me: But that’s meat. Granddaughter: No it’s not. It’s a chicken nugget.
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Grandson (aged 5): There’s a slug in my welly. (Removes welly to take a look.) No. It’s just a rock! I’m not sure, but I think he was disappointed.
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Me: I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘m’ Grandson (aged 5): A . . . mbulance
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Granddaughter (age 8): You have hair on your arm. Me: Yes. Granddaughter: Did it fall from your head?
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Drifting on through time Winter snow now turns to spring. New life is dawning.
Greenacre 9 