Yesterday I found a poem I wrote when I was nine or ten. It is scribbled on a piece of white printing paper (the kind without lines), so I know it must have been a "serious piece of work". (White paper was reserved for "serious work" when I was little.)
Here it is, typed out exactly as it is written on the page:
One Little Daisy
One little daisy goes out to play,
Outside, the daisy plays all day.
When suddenly a noise comes through,
That sounds quite harsh and mean!
But daisy just stays in the grass,
For there's nothing to be seen.
Daisy just stays out in the sun
listing[sic] to the awful noise, when
a big red thing comes towards
her toys and takes her off
her poise. The noise stops.
The red thing stops, and
daisy is relieved, until she
is plucked out of the dirt,
and put between a book. after [sic]
A while, daisy's dry and taped
onto a paper. So daisy's days
are filled with hours stuck on a
You don't have to classify this as a poem if it's too painful for you to do so. ;)
I remember imagining a big red lawn mower charging towards a little daisy. I think my original plan was for the daisy to get eaten by the lawn mower, but my sister must have vetoed that idea. Perhaps I confused daisies and dandelions? I really didn't like dandelions when I was a little girl.
If I could talk with my nine year old self, I would ask her the following:
1) What do daisies play with? What are her "toys"? Did I mean June Bugs? Other flowers? A rubber ball?
2) What do I mean by "Caper"? I don't think I was referring to the pickled bud. I knew what those were, and they were gross. (My sister ate them.) Did I mean some sort of shenanigan? What can you do while taped to a piece of paper?
I was a fairly odd child... My poor Ma and Pa.
Apparently I wrote them another daisy poem for Christmas. Let's hope this one was a bit less...strange.