The sheet.


 

An old ripped sheet
In the hands of my daughter
Can be.

A baby, ” shhhh daddy.”
A sausage, ” eat daddy.”
A scarf, ” tuck daddy. ”
An apron, ” tie daddy.”

It is swung when singing,
Flung when cross.
Hugged when tired,
Demanded when lost.

More often than not
It is thrown over
Daddy’s head.

Who after enjoying
It’s milky smell
Delights with a simple,

Boo !

 

 

As I watched my two and half-year old daughter playing the other day I found myself becoming fascinated by how she used her imagination when playing with an old sheet ( which she affectionately calls ” sheetie. ) So as we played her various ” sheetie” games  this poem came together.