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Poem

The making of a book,
with love within it's pages;
should be a piece of cake,
and not take her ages!

Where's Denise? asked Molly,
In answer came a look;
I think she's in the staff room,
making a book.

Oh! that makes sense,
I wonder if she needs a hand;
the fact she's in a muddle;
I quite understand !

Can I give assistance,
anything I can do?
"Old pictures, if you've any
that would save the day".

At home theres photos everywhere,
Denise cannot be found,
Colin's waiting for his tea,
but D's gone underground.

Hours, days, a week gone by,
the end is in sight; she's nearly there,
with camera still in hand,
no-ones safe; no place to blinkin' hide!

Late at night 'n' early morn,
bags beneath her eyes;
"not enough hours in a day"
the staff hear her say...

Not a glue -stick left in school,
Denise has used the lot.
computer hogging, scanner manning;
she's an expert at them all.

At last; at last, it's done and finished,
every word and picture.
children's work, upon the cover;
she wipes the sweat from her brow,
and binds it all together....phew !

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