All Manner Of Silly Things Poem by Mark Heathcote

I was a child of uneventful woes
with butterfly yearnings for wild meadows
oh, all manner of silly things; who knows
I even collected marbles for gemstones.

I was that little-blue forget-me-not
waiting for the spring to call and knock.
I was the one who felt how others mock
masquerading I-might-be-a peacock.

As a child with every migrating flock
I felt abandoned I felt, left behind
I was left to watch the ice interlock
and the snowy white land becomes enshrined.

I couldn't conceal my bitter envy,
masquerading like I were hollyhock;
my demeanour was sometimes sullenly,
a bright summer's day with tears interlock.

'The bees would hurry on by with disdain,
observing all these blue forget-me-nots
as I mosey on down a country lane,
far-off lost in my wayward, drifting thoughts.'

I was a child of uneventful woes
with butterfly yearnings for wild meadows
oh, all manner of silly things; who knows
I even collected marbles for gemstones.