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One was beautiful, silken hair to her waistand dutiful, kept it neatly in place.Please and Thanks were words she’d use.
Miss Flotsam was my reception teacher.She had travelled the world.Brown hair turned goldenunder distant suns,clothes carrying coloursfrom countless corners of continents.
Now the day is over,you're lying in your bedand cares are spinning endlesslyaround your weary head.Remember that the moon you seeis also shining down on me.
Itty-bitty. Bat. Tittle-tattle. TatShilly-shally. Shout. Dilly-dally. OutWilly-nilly. Woo. Silly Billy. Boo!Roly-poly. Rip. Pitter-patter. Pip
My twin brother lives across the street,
once in a while, we meet to eat,
he listens to me, lets me talk,
doesn't complain and doesn't baulk,
I was born with a map of Australia on my face;it was beautiful, my mother told me – there was nobody like me in the whole wide worldwho could trace the edges of down under
My Gran was a Caribbean ladyAs Caribbean as could beShe came across to visit usIn Shoreham by the sea.
Here's my hat.It holds my head,The thoughts I've hadand the things I've read.
This is my story.It is mine alone because I am the one who needsto tell it.I am the one who is still here,no longer stage right but