My friend, Sherla, was hard to see
for Mom and Dad, not me.
My imaginary friend was all I had.
I’m an only child, you see.
Most times Sherla was really good.
We did puzzles, read, and played.
We made our beds and cleaned our room
ALMOST every single day.
But sometimes Sherla spilled my milk,
sometimes she wrote on walls,
sometimes she told me not to come
when Mom and Daddy called.
I had to have a talk with her
about being a naughty kid,
cause I’m the one who got time out
for all the things she did.
It’s different now, I go to school
and I have friends everywhere.
Sherla doesn’t come here now
and I thought I she didn’t care.
Mom told me Sherla’s ‘special’
cause only I could see,
but now she lives with someone else
who needs her more than me.
Having been raised an only child, I get this. My imaginary friend was a little blond, crew-cut boy named 'Chuck.' He was better behaved than I, however. I was the one who wrote on the walls and under the marble top table with crayons! ! 10 from me, laughing with joyous remembrance! Hugh
CJ, Beautifully written. As for me, I'm not going to grow up and lose my special friend, else I would have to come when the wife called and couldn't write poems about stuff he tells me about. She still thinks Moira is the one who writes on the walls and I ain't telling.
This is nice and has such appeal for those children who need (or needed) a 'special friend.' Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
C.J., This is so cute! I never had an imaginary friend - I guess I didn't have time growing up with 3 brothers - but I've always loved the idea of them, and this poem is no exception. Well done. Shannon