See the little girls and boys,
Playing happily with toys.
Oh John's hit Bobby on the nose.
It'll look just like Pinocchio's.
Bobby, cleaned up from the blood,
Tells John he's a stupid turd.
And picks the fire~engine, red.
To batter him about the head.
Now all the kids, they number ten,
Have all decided to join in.
A massacre is on it's way,
At the under~fives nursery.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lizzy...I love your poems...they are always so full of wit and humour. You are very creative...'and picks the fire engine, red, To batter him about the head.' Very well done...and you obviously know children! ! Hugs, Dee