Pancakes
I love pancakes, with golden syrup
It falls onto my pancakes
And melts all runny
And feels funny
Which runs down to my tummy.
They are golden brown
And they’re nice and round
Hot from the pan
Syrup from a can
Butter from the fridge
Dripping from the edge.
I ate two
And didn’t give any to you.
By Olivia.
Syrus
Syrus is shy
And doesn’t like flies
He likes to go outside
And hide
And seek
He likes to roll in the mud
With his paw prints thud, thud, thud.
He is not friends with dogs
Or jumping frogs
From the waterfall
He doesn’t like them at all
He eats his dinner from a silver dish
He likes to eat fish
And chips
He sleeps and counts sheep
He peeps with his little eye
And says,
“Bye bye!”
By Olivia.
A place to park those random thoughts, stolen images, hidden conversations and incoherent babble from beyond the wall of sleep. Odd bits of music and so-called worldly wisdom may creep in from time to time. Don't expect too much and you won't feel let down.
Hey Olivia I like your poems - especially the one about Syrus the cat - he is a fine looking wee man!
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