Sunday Poem: Autumn

13th November 2010 125

The seasons turn, the world grows old,

The woodland turns from green to gold.

I hate suet. Rice is better.

I mustn’t forget to post that letter.

That’s all I remember of my first ever poem, called Autumn. It was called Autumn because Mr. Roberts, the English teacher, asked us to write a poem about autumn. I’d never thought of writing a poem before, but I knew you had to find words that rhyme and while I was at it, I unwittingly threw in a bit of post-modernist subversion. Mr. Roberts really liked it.

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