Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Found Poetry


This poem by an eight-year-old:



Winter is fun.
Winter is nice.
Winter is cold.
Winter is ice.

Winter is cocoa.
Winter is boots.
Winter is snow.
Winter is snow suits.

Throw a snowball in the air.
Make a fire
Watch the flare.
Cuddle with your teddy bear.

Okay, so the mystery poet is me. My mom brought me a bag of old stuff on her most recent visit, and among the wreckage I found this gem. (I also found a letter to my grandparents wherein I ask, "Did Nanny die? I hope not" and where I boast, "I got about more than a millyon toys"--but that's for another day and time, I suppose.) I'm not sure why I changed the formula in the last stanza of "Winter," or why I added an extra line. I probably needed to mention teddy, much like I needed to mention compsognathus in another composition. And really, who wouldn't get bored with the "winter" formula?

After I pulled it from the bag, I read the poem aloud for my family, and my mom said, "That's really good for a seven-year-old!"

"I was eight."

"Oh..." she said, noticeably without revising her comments to accommodate the correct age.

Oh well. I never claimed to be a poet, even though, like C.S. Lewis, I tried. (Oh boy, did I try.) I'm also not sure about the circumstances under which I wrote this poem. The "from the desk of" and the fact that this is carbon paper makes me think this was not an official assignment but a labor of love.

1 comment:

  1. I like that poem. Thanks for sharing. I may have to teach some of the kids that poem this winter. IF I remember. :)