When Hettie Norman
fell down the bank
into an amazing bed
of stinging nettles,
she didn't half shriek.
It made me feel weak.
She kicked her way out
with a shout
at the top of her voice.
Then crying with dread
and looking bright red,
ran all the way home, screaming.
I ran behind kinda' close as I could.
She wouldn't wait,
screamed through her gate,
her skin spotted red.
I knocked on her door,
and her mother said
'poor Hetties in bed'.
Sally Plumb
A great poem in a rhymes..............wonderful read..........10++++.........
hey, you show a lot of talent here Sally traditional style and very original
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Indeed terrific…painfully 'poor Hetties in bed'. Ms. Nivedita UK