Poetry

Phoebe's new best thing is writing, and so we've become quite accustomed to her delivering little notes to us with messages such as "you ar a badd beby", "I am a poo" or (for my birthday) "you ar mi luv" (I'm translating from the Greek here, obviously).

Now she has started producing poetry. And if you're expecting me to exploit her eforts for cheap laughs (who, me?) then for once, at least, you're mistaken. Because I was actually rather stunned when she slipped the following lines* into my hand:

I'm alone in the cold.
Only a mother
Could save me
With a warm kiss.


*Spelling and punctuation tidied up