As a kid, if I fell down
and grazed my knee,
my Mum, she would attempt
to comfort me,
with a sticky plaster and, 'There, there,'
to which I'd reply,
'Where, where? Here?'
'No, there,' she'd sigh,
'But where's there?'
inquisitive as always, I would ask,
as a sensitive, yet difficult, child,
I was quite the task,
with cuts, bruises and sprains,
more than a handful, no less,
otherwise, born to run wild,
a piece of work in progress.
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