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It's five past three.Sixty-four eyes look at me.No. Sixty-two.Not Matthew.He hasn't learnt to read my face.He's got digital. A disgrace!
When they were young,She kept wicket for her brothers,They batted,Bowled,Padded upAnd ratcheted up the score.She crouched behind the stumpsKeeping wicket.
Look at the trainLook at the trainLook at the train,the train, the train!
Rattling byClackety-clackat the back of the housesup on the track.
The china is in smithereensbefore our tea has even brewedbut it hardly matters.Minotaur is half bulland a little clumsybut bigger things have been shattered,
Once upon a plomThere lived a poor little momAlong with her children three.There was a great big GomA Flom and a ChomWho all sang, "Me, me, me."
The seagulls are doing their dance again – Wings clasped to their sides, they stare up the street.Up and down, up and down, go their knobbly pink knees;
In the line you hear a chatter.Up and down a clatter, clatter.Noisy schoolgirls scream and shout,pushing in and pushing out.
Teach me the language of Cat;the slow-motion blink, that crystal stare,a tight-lipped purr and a wide-mouthed hiss.Let me walk with a saunter, nose in the air.