Sign up to our newsletter
We watch them, hypnotized.Pale and mysterious,They rise and fall. Joe says“They look like ghosts.”
I am in a forest;My brothers will never find me here.Over my head is a green umbrella;I feel the earth under my bare feet.
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.
One moment they were there and we were having funNow they've disappeared, every single one.I don't know where to go and I'm feeling rather scared
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,
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.
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.