Apples

| 3 Comments

A poem from my 7 year old (indentation is straight from the source):

Apples
by A.

                                                         Apples grow on trees,
                                                                as everybody sees.
                                                             Sometimes we make pies,
                                                           or buy a few,
                                                                       sometimes we make
                                                sauce too.
                                                               Chicks eat them in their pen,
                                                with their momma, Momma Hen.
                                                       we call them apples,
                                                              but babies call them rapples.
                                                                          rapples, trapples as
                                                babies say,
                                                                 Oh, what a wonderful, wonderful day!
                                                           

                                                                

3 Comments

[this is good] I think we have a fledgling Longfellow on our hands.  Tell your little one I enjoyed the poem :-)

I love it!  especially the couplet with Momma hen ..mm

Yeah, that A is quite the clever one. Must harness that energy and cleverness for good, and not evil:-)

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This page contains a single entry by Jonathan published on November 19, 2007 11:52 AM.

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