kfg moore

To my friend Amy the poet, age 8

I've only known Amy for a day or so,
But I already know she's someone special.
In the fountain photograph, she tries
To stroke the fish with kindness,
The same sweetly shy kindness,
That later that fine and social night,
She showed to the old and visiting poet,
When with the ease and nature of a true soul,
She lent him certain things:
First her room, a special sanctuary at any age;
Then her favourite CD 'cos
Old poets' hearts need magical music;
Her special cap, 'cos if it fits,
The old poet should wear it,
A special pen, 'cos pens
Are special channels for the poet's words;
Three special coins, 'cos poets
Are of and in the material world,
And must eat and drink with the best of 'em;
Her special teddy, 'cos old poets,
Need creature comforts and the comfort of creatures,
And anyway most old poets are at least half teddy;
A painted tissue paper message,
And that's between me and her,
And finally, the greatest gift of all,
Her poembook, so rich in poem and picture,
And a poet's special vision,
That the old poet's normal bedtime tears,
Were more than half for joy,
And held maybe a touch of envy,
Of my old/young friend, Amy the poet.
 
© kfg moore