Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Poetry Time

I was up in the attic, starting the laborious process of unpacking the heavier winter clothes and storing way the summer ones.  As I was shifting boxes around, I found my memory box.  My mother kept all sorts of papers, art projects, etc. that my brother and I had done when we were in school.  A few years back she gave me my memory box, and I put it in my attic for safe keeping.

When I happened across the box this evening I stopped to take a look through it again.  What started out as a bit of procrastination turned into nostalgia.

Allow me to share with you one of the treasures I found this evening.  My poetry book, which I think was made when I was in fourth grade, judging by the date.

Like the artwork?  I do not know why the rabbit in the corner looks satanic.  The first poem in the book is entitled Easter, so I assume that is meant to be an Easter Bunny.  I think I might have read Bunnicula a few too many times before I drew that.  

And now, without further ado, my fourth grade masterpiece poem entitled Easter  (all grammar and punctuation from the original):

Eggs very brightly colored
Red, Orange and polkadot smothered
Baskets filled up with candy
Look just nice and dandy

The Easter Bunny hops around
To all the houses in the town
Who belong to good girls and boys
Sometimes he gives them toys

Time to wake up early
To see some candy looking nice and pearly
Time to go to church
Happily birds gaily perch

Can't wait until next year
Maybe I will get a gear
So that I can fix my plane
And fly all the way to Maine (to see my parents)

I've got no explanation for that last bit.  We have never lived in Maine, my parents are not divorced so it wasn't like I was going to visit one of them, I didn't go to boarding school, and I most certainly did not know how to fly a plane.  I'm not sure that I had ever been to Maine when I wrote this.  My best guess is that the poem had to be a certain length, and Maine was an easy word to rhyme.  

Barring the bizarre ending, it was a pretty good poem for a fourth grader.  Fourth grade and I was using the phrase "polka-dot smothered"?  Go me!

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