Coming, Ready Or Not - Poem by Diane Hine
When we play hide and seek,
my grandson tells me where to hide.
I must hide in the tan swivel armchair.
I want to sneak away to hide somewhere
clever while he counts, but can’t
because he’s canny, though only three
and can see right through me. He can see
through his eyelids and fingers too.
So I scrunch myself up, close my eyes
and blend into the wrinkled leather.
After looking in the cupboard, under
the desk and behind the curtain,
he finds me straight away.
Then he hides under the table.
I look under the curtain. He sings out,
‘I’m here Grandma, under the table’.
After looking in the desk and behind
the cupboard, I find him straight away.
How worried we’d be, if I couldn’t find him
or he couldn’t find me. Much more sensible
to hide in plain view, so we do.
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