Hear the children’s four-beat sonnet.
Watch them race around the yard –
“Watch out, Davy!” “Davy’s on it.”
Hit the wall, and hit it hard
for protection. Touch your neighbour.
Run like wind towards the trees!
See the fat boy puff and labour.
You evade his grasp with ease.
Sheila Saunders whizzes past me,
all her freckles thrown like dice.
“Girls are nice and boys are nasty!”
Shelia shouts, and skids like ice
from my clutches down the street,
and the poem is complete.
from Academe (Seren 1988), © Paul Groves 1988, used by permission of the author