Fay Slimm Poems
Child's E-Mail To God.
Dear God I am riting this to let you no
My Mom's coff got worse and she's just ad to go.
I dont no your E-mail but your everywhere
So sum angel will give it you God, cos you care.
Mom's gone to an ospital they called a Respite
I think that's the name - an I hope it's spelled rite.
They won't let me go cos it's too far away.
But they dont no she hates eggs, an she wont like to say.
Her coff isn't bad when she first gets in bed
But she likes extra pillas God, under er head.
My Mom's got red air, tho she's not got much now
But she likes it combed gently, ...
Sing SPRING, and feel the thrust of newborn thing.
Spring-warmed sun arouses earth,
Then blazons dormant trees to work.
Roots awake, and crawling, shyly nudge and shake each branch.
Soil breaks next, with rank on lush green rank of shoot.
And buds unfurl.
Colours zing, as blossoming life begins again
To sting old winters indolent sleep. Breathe this resurrection theme.
Sink this bursting spring-like dream deep to feed on all year through.