I'm not really a big reader of poetry. It's okay; I just don't spend a lot of time reading and reflecting on it.
But my daughters have been writing some poetry lately, and I am a big fan of my daughters and their poetry. Two samples.
First a limerick from my youngest daughter, Eden (age 9), who manages to rebuke her dad in rhyme:
There is a man that carries a bat;
He eats too much so he is very fat.
His beard is really long,
And sings his jolly long.
He will never lose weight acting like that.
Then there is the poem from my oldest daughter (soon to be 11) who manages to put in poetry a love we share, reading.
The Magic of Reading
I open my book to my favorite page.
I look down and see everything has changed.
The old excitement is replaced with something brighter!
The white on the pages are now even whiter!
And as I am filled with excitement and glee,
It all fades away, then I read with less speed.
I must say, it is magic to read.
All of the stories come to life on the page;
And just like the characters I feel happiness and rage.
All of the words have new meaning to me;
And slowly I read with greater speed.
And that's why I say: "It is magic to read."
I travel with Don Quixote and his horse,
And with Nat Bowditch I proof-read morse.
I play the piccolo with Dominic,
And like Olivia "Miss O" will stick.
Running and singing and hiding from De Vil.
I'm magicly caught in the reading spell.
Only a closed book can get me out of it,
And if the character does, I'm bound to pout a bit.
So I'll say it again:
"It is magic to read."
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