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Poem	owls and pussy cats can make up their minds to sail out to sea and even get married but they don't have parents or other such binds whose one job in life is to see that they're harried now a seven year old boy whose mind is quite clear about what the world is and his proper place will feel deeply distraught and totally drear when told to wipe all his smart dreams off his face when told he can't have what his brother (eleven) just takes for granted and won't even share adults can't imagine what hell blots out heaven when a seven year old boy is forbidden to swear so what a great hope is the land of the bong tree where a piggy-wig grants you whatever you wish and you can if you dare be as daft as a donkey or turn on the spot to a great ogre fish and brothers and mothers and fathers are sent to the north or south pole or even to mars and not to come back till you agree to relent and then to shut up or you'll mars them to bars mind you owls and pussy cats have to get married they have to join hands and dance by the moon for seven year olds that's worse than being carried to a toilet and tipped in by a runcible spoon so maybe it's better to stay where the home is to put up with parents and brothers (eleven) to turn the new day into the splendour this poem is and everyone goes yippee for matthew now seven
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