I've been writing poems for three years now. I didn't write any before that. I just found a notebook from 20 years ago and this poem was in it. Evidently I wrote one poem for my kids back then, they were eight then.
I’d like to fly on and orange popsicle,
Up in the sky until it turns to trickle.
I’d zoom it up then turn it around,
And wave to the kids down on the ground.
They’d talk about what they’d see,
Two orange halves and one chilly me.
They’d envy me for sitting on top,
They’d wish to fly their very own pop.
With tongues they’d catch my orangey drips,
Then they would smack their new orange lips.
The big yellow sun would play his tricks,
And I’d be left with only the sticks.
I would fall through the clear blue sky,
But I’ll not worry and I’ll tell you why.
With sticks on my feet like a skier I’d land,
Then slide home safely on the soft sea sand.
I think that next I’ll visit the grassy sea floor,
That is, I believe, what the red ones are for.