Another extra little post. I'm trying to force myself to write a bit more often (I've actually written another that I've not posted yet, but I might save that for a special occasion). I was thinking about when I was little and I used to have to run to keep up with my Dad. It's not really poetry (so I've categorised it as prose), but I think it looks nicer laid out this way.
Daddy's got his marching legs on.
They're slightly taller than me,
but quite a lot shorter than Daddy.
When Daddy turns them on
they walk very quickly and
I have to run to keep up.
Daddy holds my hand very tightly
and even if I stop walking
my legs keep going all by themselves.
When I start to fall behind,
Daddy lifts me off the ground
and swings me in front with one giant step.
It feels like I'm walking on the moon.
***
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