I cannot remember a time when I did not write poetry. I can remember finding this in my daughter's book when she was 7:-
'It is snowing, it is glistening,
It is time for Jesus' christening'
and thinking 'chip off the old block!'.
There will be poems from other sources too,all acknowledged.
This little poem was written for Mary.
When I was in Oldchurch Hospital at her birth I got to know the Doctor who organised the hospital magazine and it was printed there a month or so later ( with illustrations, now lost) .
When Mr. Trim the barberman steps out to take the air,
He nods his bony chin to me,but has no time to spare:
He is looking out for customers, and shudders when he sees
The tufty-headed hayricks,and the lank-haired willow-trees,
And the wild white hawthorn hedges that go rambling where they please.
When Mr. Trim the barberman is on his daily walk,
He tips his bowler-hat to me, but hasn't time to talk:
He is busy with his customers, and lifts enchanted brows
At the monkey-puzzle ringlets, and the shingled poplar-boughs,
And the neat-cropped heads of meadow trees cut short by hungry cows.