I live in a crayonned house
that opens onto
a multicoloured view
of whatever
has taken her fancy.
A little purple tree
with a large orange apple
wave after wave of
the bluest grass.
My little girl larger than me
holding my tiny hand
both of us taller
than house or tree.
A rainbow of smoke
undulating from a fat chimney.
A dog barks across a white sky
('I got tired & couldn't be bothered
to colour it in! ' she explains)
Big blue birds flying around
our feet.
This crayonned house
lives on a wall
of a bedroom
you haven't lived in
since you were small
& drew us here
with stuck out tongue & intensity of hand.
Now drawn
by Time
we return
(good old Dad
& dutifully grown daughter)
step into
our crayonned world
as if it were
yes(only yesterday)
living it
all over
again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh, what we lose when we grow up...magenta houses, and tall daddys! As ever, Dear, Darling Donall Dempsey...you travel the mind of this child so well. When WILL the Book of Tilly come out? Soon, I hope, for I am going to push you into it, starting NOW!