May Fenn

I’ve heard mum say, and often too,
That washing up’s a bore.
Why she’d often give me tuppence
Just to do that dreadful chore.
But me, I rather like it
With my elbows in the sink,
Stirring up the bubbles
As I have a little think.
And when I start to wash them,
Why the dishes fade away
And in their place a special friend
Comes to visit me each day.
There’s a genie in the saucepan,
And when I make the bottom shine
He shows his great big smiling face,
(It looks a bit like mine).
He likes it when I talk to him,
Yet though it seems absurd.
Although I see him answer me,
I just can’t hear a word!
I see his lips are mouthing words,
But though I strain my ears,
I’ve never yet heard what he’s said
Whenever he appears.
Still I’m sure if Mum could see him
That she’d never say again
That washing up’s a dreadful bore
And drives her quite insane.

I'm glad I'm not a real boy
With proper feet like you.
Imagine if I had to put
A foot in every shoe.
For when I'd got each foot inside
And every lace tied tight,
I'd have to take them off again
To go to bed at night.

Hush, can you hear it?
The rustling in the grass,
Bringing you the welcome news that
Winter's day is past.
Soft, can you feel it?
The warm caressing breeze,
Telling you the sticky buds
Are bursting on the trees.
Look, can you see them?
The primrose in the lane.
Now you must believe it -
Spring is here again.